A Little R&R
by Insomniazzz
Summary: The small screen wasn't enough for her. The big screen wasn't enough for him. Ideals and scruples aside, Rita and Danny stand a real chance at reforming the industry. That is, if jealousy in the form of a hulking mutt doesn't screw things up...
1. Chapter 1

A Little R&R

-Jueves Insomniazzz

_Characters intellectual property of Warner Bros. blah blah blah_

_**12 October 1992 0353 hours**_

The tiny room was furnished by a chair with one leg too short and nothing more than a broken air conditioner incessantly dripping as grayish mold made no attempt to hide behind the walls. All too familiar and none too inviting. Yes he'd seen it all before, but the familiarity with the situation never made it easier. The mutt shifted his weight, trying not to give the officers the satisfaction of knowing the cuffs were too tight. In the past, they'd taken the restraints off during the interrogation. Why was this time different?

The door opened right on cue. He'd been counting the hums of the fluorescent light. They usually came in when he got to 334. He was on 336 this time. He recognized the officer, Detective Carowitz. At least it wasn't Branstrien this time.

" You know why you're here, right?" Typical opening line.

"Yeah I know why I'm here. Cuz y'all mothaphukas can't do your jobs right." Not exactly the right line to solidify a good rapport.

"I told you before easy on the language. That's not going to get us anywhere."

Was he trying to score some points by reminiscing? The dog smirked at this.

"Not like I got something to lose, right?"

"Can we continue?"

"Continue what? Same thing different day."

Carowitz's demeanor started to change. "That's right, we've picked you up for this before, haven't we?"  
>"Read the gawddamn report yourself." Runt wasn't taking the bait.<p>

"I have. I also think that you really believe what you said."

"Y'all believed it to or you would've locked me up last time."

"Last time was different. There's a clear difference between defending a loved one and collapsing a defenseless citizen's lung." The detective tensed up, knowing he'd struck a nerve.

"Defenseless?" Runt strained in his restraints, causing himself undue agony.

"Bring it down, please." The detective's tone indicated that he had total control of the situation.

"Defenseless? You gotta little sister?" Mistake number two.  
>"It's not about me. I'm not the one in trouble here."<p>

"So you got one. So what happens when your sister's walking home and some mothaphukas try to wolfpack her?" A quick save, though not completely fabricated.

"We're not here because you saved her. We're here because after you saved her, you didn't let us handle it from there. You took it out of our hands when you broke the guy's ribcage until one of his ribs stabbed right into his lung. You know he's in critical condition, right?"

"Good."

"If he dies, you're going to be facing murder charges."

"He won't be orchestrating anymore shit then, will he?"  
>"Say you get convicted. How're you going to protect her from prison?"<p>

"How am I gonna protect her if I'm worried about that?" Checkmate.

"I'm wasting my time. Hope that bravado keeps you safe in San Quentin." Maybe not. Runt stared at the table as the detective called in the detention officers to begin processing.

_**15 April 1993 0100 hours**_

"Look here, see… All I'm trying to say is that Jojo wanted that pussy and that's not right, dog. He fuckin' with da species, ya know what I'm sayin'? It's a gawddamn waste of time to be doin' that. I mean, she can't give him no puppies no matter how many times they do it, so it's all pointless. It's all about _la rasa_, right?"

Runt groaned, rolling on his side to face the wall. Anything to pretend his cellmate didn't exist. Many times he'd weighed the pros and cons of snapping the Chihuahua's neck so they'd put him in solitary so he could get some peace and quiet as opposed to putting up with Dinero's rants. When it came down to it, there were only 16 hours left in his six-month sentence, so it just didn't make sense to throw it away for a few hours of silence.

He wasn't so different from Dinero anyways. He hated cats just as much. Probably moreso. That's why he was in a 6 x 8 this time around. Aggravated Assault. Closing his eyes, the mutt tried going over the incident in his head for the 4000th time. He could still only remember little snapshots here and there.

It was raining that night… he was completely plastered, hammered, everything…some song, maybe… unknown… maybe something about a long road or gravity or something…the alley… buncha noisy tomcats… explicatives…green eyes… red and blue lights.

After the lights, the rest was a blur.

_**15 April 1993 1657 hours**_

"Represent, dog!" "Kay Nine!"

Runt walked confidently, keeping his eyes forward. The sheer amount of barking made his fur stand up on the back of his neck. He was almost embarrassed to be a part of the species with so many of his brethren locked away.

The scent of freedom wasn't as welcome as he'd anticipated. It was a combination of burnt rubber and old water. Not even the sun cared to greet him as he bade goodbye to his old lodgings. Taking a look at his possessions, the mutt sighed. Not enough money to make a phone call, let alone pay for bus fare. Not that it really mattered, anyway. Who would he call?

Outside of the gate Runt knelt down to tie his shoe. He was concentrating so hard on the knot that he failed to notice her at first. All of a sudden, he sensed it. Looking up, the green eyes flashed in front of him. The only real memory etched in his brain for the past few months. Rising to his feet, he tried to play it cool, walking past the gray stranger silently praying that she'd been waiting for him.

"Hey."

It was comical how fast the dog spun around to face the other.

"Yeah?" he had no trouble sounding tough despite the circumstances.

"Need a lift somewhere?" her voice was seasoned…complimented the wealth of pain and experience in her eyes, though it contradicted the rest of her face which seemed innocent and young.

"Wouldn't hurt." Play it safe. Keep it short.

Hopping down to the driver's seat, she made some kind of religious sign in the air before starting the ignition.

"What was that for?" he was careful not to slam the door as he got in.

"I've been banking on this day…this'll probably be one of the last trips this POS can make." She laughed, patting the steering wheel.

Though the convertible did seem to be on it's last leg, from the coat hanger lock to the duck taped dash, it was a thousand times better than his vehicle, his worn boots that were two sizes too small.

"So where to?"

Runt looked at her for the second time. This time without diverting his eyes, like he'd finally gotten used to looking at the sun.

"Mansel and 104th," he replied looking away again.

"You _live_ in Inglewood?" She seemed surprised for some reason. Runt shrugged, leaning back in his seat.

Two miles into the drive she spoke up again. "Hey, uh thanks."

Runt opened an eye. They made eye contact for a second. She looked away before cracking a smile. He was relieved, as he couldn't contain his grin from showing.

"Don't mention it. I just kinda have it in for cats, ya know?"

She gave him a thoroughly flabbergasted look, started to open her mouth, but caught herself… for a second.

"Cats?"

"Yeah. I hate 'em."

She started laughing again. God, it was like music to his ears. The conversation could have gone south, but neither chose to really speak any more. Turning onto 104th, she looked at him.

"We're here. So where's you?"

Runt looked up and gasped. What was left of his building had police tape around the charred remains of the door. She looked at the dog, following his eyes to the scene of the crime, quickly putting two and two together. She wanted to say something…

"Sorry." The feline looked at Runt, wondering why.

"Looks like I wasted your last trip in your car."

"Not a _complete_ waste."

Runt raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing like _that,_" she observed, smirking.

"Like what?" he smirked back. "Name's Alphonse Meridian., by the way. Street name's 'Runt'."

Her green eyes sparkled before she responded. "Charmed. I'm Rita. You got over your place being burned up really quickly, if you don't mind my sayin'."

"Not my place. Just an old friend who owed me a favor."

"Aren't you worried about him?"

"Emphasis on the _old_ part."

"Ah. So you're…"

"I'd say 'homeless' 'cause "Tramp" is taken."

"Oh."

"Yep."

"Then you're kinda free?"

"As a bird."

"Well, this POS is gonna crap out of me any time, but would you like a warm place to rest tonight and escort a gal to an audition tomorrow?"

"Sounds tempting. Audition? You a dancer?"

"Singer. Some new sketch comedy show. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky there."

_**13 November 1999 0223 hours**_

"_Didn't know when the waitin' got too long…_

_Didn't know if my baby could hear my song_

_Didn't know why it hurt to say 'please'_

_Didn't comply when the man said 'get on your –_

_Need a backup plan…_

_Bit off the feeder's_

_Hand me another_

_Keep 'em comin'_

_I'll drown the ghosts in a pool of_

_Martin he, had a dream_

_Wouldn't it be nice if_

_See I Aye didn't have no_

_Scheming to get out._

_Scheming…_

_Scheme…_

_Schemed._

Rita usually felt disappointed when her songs ended. When the music stopped, it was as if she were being rudely awakened from a wonderful dream. Opening her eyes, the cat noticed a $20 and a $5 at the edge of the bar. Typical Marcus. The five was for the ginger ale he always nursed for three hours on Wednesday after work. The twenty was for her. He was the most predictable regular at the bar. Sometimes she wondered if he went to sleep in that cap of his. He always managed to slip away in the middle of her songs, so her 'thanks' were always tardy. Save the bouncer at the door, the bar was deserted.

"Pete, you lockin' up?" Rita turned her attention to the barkeep who was wiping down a table.

"Might as well. Dead as a doornail here." He had a kind face. Probably the only human she could ever trust. Rita managed to tear the rag from his hand and finished up the job, scowling at him to silence his protest before it began. Pete shrugged and went off to finish washing the glasses.

"Rita?"

"Yeah, Runt?" The cat looked up at her natural enemy who wore a sheepish expression on his face.

"What the hell's a doornail?"

"Nail on a door, I guess."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"…"

"Don't think too much about it."

The south wind and the north breeze forgot to announce their midnight run plans and thus wreaked havoc on any twilight strollers who were automobile deprived. Runt attempted to bundle the cat up with his jacket which weighed about the same as Rita herself. The intrepid songstress was gracious nonetheless, accepting the sacrifice with a warm hug of the jacket before breaking off into a jog.

The mutt smirked before beginning his pursuit. She looked funny, a petite being trying to sprint against the wind with a covering too heavy for her to hold. Before she could even make it a block, the cat panted to a halt, nearly falling over.

Runt retrieved his coat, refusing to put it back on if she couldn't wear it.

"It was a nice gesture anyways," Rita looked at her knight. "But it defeats the purpose if at least one of us doesn't wear it."

"I'm alright."

The dog's macho façade could always be counted on. Rita grinned as the wind died down for a moment.

"Ironic how the weather always gets better when the trip's all done, eh?" she mused, taking a seat on the stoop of their building. Runt joined her, saying nothing. Soaked in the moment.

"_Well this day has come and gone_

_And ah sing the same ol' song_

_When will ah learn to accept my fate_

_Is the other side really so great?_

_My fate…"_

"I'm sorry."

"For what, Runt?"

"You're still here."

"Huh?"

"When you sing, your eyes are closed."

"So?"

"So when you open them again, it's like it takes a minute for you to figure out where you are and when you see you haven't gone anywhere, you seem…"

"Runt?"

"Yeah, Rita?"  
>"Shut up, 'kay?"<p>

"Shuttin' up."

"Good."

"'Night."

-End Part One-

_I'm rusty, I'll admit and the voices go every which way. My apologies, I hope things will start to pick up by chapter two. It's unclear whether Runt actually knows that Rita's a cat as of yet, i'm aware of that… trust me on this one… :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**07 January 2000 2045 hours**_

"Oh no."

"What?"

The mutt dropped the TV remote, sitting up in the sofa, eyes narrowed. It was nearly impossible to tell Rita's place from his, as they shared everything from furniture to food condiments. They lived across the hall from one another in an ancient family hotel off an abandoned freeway. Perhaps the biggest reason they'd chosen to keep separate places was to help the poor landlord out with extra rent and to have a bit more space and scenery to work with. Plus, there was that all-important need for space to be available whenever necessary.

"Last time you gave me that look, I didn't have a good night's sleep for a month."

"Heh heh, well…"

"What's that you're hiding behind your back, lady?"

Sheepishly, the cat produced an opened envelope, handing it to the mutt. Scanning the envelope for a brief moment, Runt tossed it over his back and turned away, picking up the remote again.

"You're not going?" Rita maneuvered her way over, obstructive the dog's view of the TV.

"You _want_ me to?" Runt's tone was gruff. He may as well have asked why she even cared about it.

"You're always watching that stuff on TV and changing the channel as soon as you hear me comin'," she commented, snatching the remote away. Runt grinned, impressed.

"I know you don't like that kinda thing, ya know?" he leaned back in the couch, dropping his guard as Rita sat on his lap. "Besides, it could be a whole month in Samoa, if I did well in the tournament. What would you do while I'm gone?"

Rita ran her paws through the dog's tuft of hair, causing his eyes to involuntarily shut. When he opened them again, that sly smile was back on her lips.

"Sawyer's got strep throat or something. They want me to replace her in the last leg of the tour."

Runt's expression rivaled that of an axe murderer's for a moment, before he forcibly relaxed his facial muscles.

"You mean _Danny_ asked you." As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to punch himself in the eye. He'd fully intended to keep that comment to himself.

Rita stood up, upset and made some distance between the two.

"Well, not directly him."

"So of all the eligible understudies they just happened to pick you first?"

"Understudy?"  
>"…Backup plan?"<br>"!"

"Do what you wanna."

"Runt…"

"Gimme a second."

"Run-"

Runt held up his paw, trying to stop it from trembling.

"Why're you being like this?"

"My girl wants to go off with some cat while I go off getting my ass kicked in the Pacific for a month. How would you feel?"  
>"I would imagine that you'd get so jealous that when you're in Samoa you'll be so pissed off that you'd beat the crap outta all of them and when you brought that first place trophy back, you'd find me back right here and nothing's changed."<p>

"… but Danny's not a loser like that blue piece of work."

"While we're on the subject, let's have a little trust here. You don't need to be giving shiners to every guy who talks to me."

"Naw, hold up a second. Dude started it. Marc A.'s blessing or not, that cat's bad news."

This had been standard kindle for the arguments. Runt's mentality often regressed to their first encounter on the street that fateful night. Over the years, the dog's memory tidbits congealed into a jigsaw puzzle, the picture of which he'd never wanted revealed in the first place, Rita bent over a hydrant before…

"I said, 'What'd Furrball ever do to you?'"

Runt blinked, looking at Rita. Generally speaking, he'd egg her on to get pissed off because she looked really hot when she was mad, (also to continue jogging his memory) but this time he didn't even notice.

"Hey," his tone was far removed. Even upset, the cat could see his mind was now elsewhere.

"What?" she mused.

"Who _was_ that guy who slashed me in the jaw and took you in a cab to the doctor's?"

Rita looked as if Runt had just backhanded her.

"Where the _fuck_ did _that _come from?"

Overlooking the rare occasion of Rita cursing, Runt was determined to get an answer.

"Just answer the question. Who was he?"

"My fuckin' cousin, okay? Happy?"

"Cousin?"

"Yeah! What, so now you've changed your mind? You _wanted_ my testimony?"

"No… sorry. Shit."

There was nothing left to say. Were he capable, Runt would have protested as Rita stormed out of the room. Even as he tried to move his legs, the details of that fateful night sharpened in his brain making everything click into place.

_Been a long road to follow…_

He'd passed the alley at least a million times headed for the bar. She was usually around. Singin' her songs for change. She never got much, but damn if she didn't have talent. He usually worried that the other locals might be too short-sighted to see beyond the physical attributes she'd been blessed with. Usually, he kept it together at the watering hole. Three or four drinks tops. That night he'd been laid off at the factory and lost his discipline, drinking until he had enough courage to approach her. It was like fate crammed them together.

She'd stopped her song after the first line as a group of unsavory felines surrounded her and started taking turns… He rushed unto the scene to save the day and ended up killing one. Seeing her in the state she was in, he looked over to the guy the gang had been holding down. He'd seen him before. He'd seen them together sometimes, so he knew the guy hadn't been with the thugs. Before Runt could tell him to go get help, he slashed at Runt and jumped out in front of a taxi. Later, Runt heard he'd taken her to a doctor he knew.

Rita had wanted to testify in court, but Runt would hear none of it, having her on the stand, telling the jury and onlookers about the vile things those cats had done to her before he could stop it. He wouldn't even let her go to the courthouse. Now Rita was a really cool customer, but Runt had been right about her not testifying. Her independence had always conflicted with her vulnerability. She'd always tried to hide it, but it was obvious to even the most oblivious of individuals. That was why he did what he did. He had to. By making himself the target, the bastard, bully, bodyguard big brother, whatever, no one dared mess with Rita on Runt's watch. Never again.

Swallowing hard, Runt made his way across the hallway to her place, knocking for the first time. He waited for a moment. The door didn't open, but she didn't yell at him to piss off, either. Using his key, the mutt let himself in, bracing for impact. The strike never came.

Rita was in her room, packing up a few things into a well-worn suitcase. Not even bothering to glance at her visitor, she spoke aloud in a dry tone.

"Overreacted there."

That was about as 'sorry' as she got.

"I shouldn't have brought it-"

"You did. It's finished. Move on."

"Sor-"

_Just what mountain_

_Will she be comin' 'round?_

_Does she know about 'im_

_He's been in the pound_

_Why he always waitin'_

_When he knows she's fire_

_Other dogs are hatin'_

_Hatin' his desire…._

"So you're goin'?"

Rita opened her eyes to find her partner in crime sitting on her bed. All was forgiven. Life was too short.

"Yep. You should go, too. To your tournament."

Runt grinned, showing his teeth.

"Alright. It's settled."

The cat shot the mutt a perplexed look for a moment. He'd agreed rather swiftly.

"What're you up to, Mr. Meridian?"

Runt blushed, forgetting that he'd shared his real name with Rita before.

"I figure that Danny must be on top of the world right now and you gotta strike while the iron's hot, right? Plus I'm getting up there in age and I probably won't have any chances to fight after this, so it's kinda win-win, right? I'll miss ya, but I can watch on TV, can't I?

Rita's smile lit up the room. She pounced up on the dog and kissed him twice. Runt gladly reciprocated, then left her to her packing. Arriving in his own place, the mutt picked up the tourney brochure. Ripping it to shreds, he tossed it in the trash, a determined look fixed on his face.

_**-End Part Two-**_

_Uh oh. Plans and runts don't mix._


	3. Chapter 3

_**10 January 2000 1017 hours**_

Years after the final episode had been shot, rumors still persisted about the cat and dog's relationship. Thousands swore on their lives that Rita and Runt had been acquainted well before "Animaniacs" first aired and tried out together, making their on-screen chemistry a shoe-in for the parts. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Runt showed up late for his audition and they didn't even meet until the first taping. At least_ that_ was the official story.

Whenever questioned about their salary from the show, usually by new patrons at Pete's bar the two always held up three fingers. Yakko. Wacko. Dot. There simply wasn't enough leftover to line everyone's pockets fairly. The Goodfeathers got such a bum deal that they actually _had_ turned to crime to support their lifestyles after the show finished.

Contrary to popular belief, this was a common practice among studios and the rift between the actors made unionizing an impossible dream. The advocates were there, but always out of work. But then again, that's how the business usually worked. After your show was over, 90% of the time so was your career. Cameos didn't cover the price of gas or missed wages. But still, when a new chance came, you had to take it regardless of the consequences.

Runt silently counted to four before getting up to greet his old co-worker, not wanting to come off as too desperate. His fellow canine showed no sign of noticing, taking a seat across from him, and flagged down the waitress before turning his attention to Runt. The mutt smirked. Some things never changed.

"How's Mindy these days?" Runt inquired with a grin.

Buttons forced a laugh ending it promptly by flipping Runt the bird. Mindy had negotiated triple the amount Buttons made for the show and had lied about it. It was only after the show went off the air that anyone found out. Needless to say, the dog harbored a grudge.

"Coffee, hon?"

Buttons smiled at the waitress trying to keep his tail from wagging to hard.

"You betcha. Eight creams, please."

"Eight? You may as well just order some milk with a shot of espresso."

"Could you do that for me?"

"Anything you say, hon."

"Please!"

Runt cleared his throat as Buttons stared at the waitress while she sauntered off to get his order.

"So what's the deal?" the dog's eyes never left the waitress's ass even as he spoke.

"I need you for a protection detail." Runt's tone caused Buttons to look at him.

"Rita in trouble?"

"Not if you're on the case."

"What's wrong with you?"  
>"You want the job?"<p>

"Pay?"  
>"Whatever prize money I get from a tournament I'm going to."<p>

"Percentage?"

"40."

"70."

"45."

"65."

"55. Take it or I'll find someone else."

"What if you don't win?"

"I'll mug the winner. Deal?"

"Deal."

_**14 January 2000 1635 hours**_

"Would you like the beef or the fish, ma'am?"

The cat exhaled slowly, stretching her limbs as far as possible in the cramped seat. She wasn't particularly fond of having her sleep interrupted.

"What?"

"We have a lovely medley of veggies with beef stroganoff or you could have our seared tuna melt with sticky rice." The flight attendant had knelt down to eye level with the cat, causing Rita to tense up a bit.

"You decide."

"How about we flip for it? Heads is beef, okay?"

Rita raised an eyebrow. Clearly this kid didn't give such individual attention to everyone else sitting in coach as far as she could tell, though she had been asleep ever since they'd left LAX.

"Alright," she responded, flashing him a half grin, careful not to show her teeth. It was times like these when she actually missed Runt's hovering.

"Well, tuna it is!" the attendant announced gleefully a little too loud. Rita felt the hairs on her neck stand up as other passengers started to stare.

"How appropriate," she muttered, putting her tray down. Suddenly she felt like demanding the beef. Four seats away, a canine adjusted his sunglasses, a silent growl emanated in his throat that he was able to swallow before bringing attention to himself. Buttons eyed the steward suspiciously, praying for him to give the dog a reason to earn his pay. Although he knew blowing his cover before getting off the plane wouldn't sit well with his client…too bad.

_**15 January 2000 2357 hours**_

A random drafty gust targeted and struck Rita across the back causing her teeth to involuntarily chatter. Adrenaline aside she was nervous enough as it was. It definitely hadn't been exactly as she'd expected. She'd performed live before and before a huge audience before, but never at the same time. She also hadn't expected to feel as star struck as initially had, meeting Danny. Even though this had been their first performance together, it had been clearly evident, their chemistry on stage. After completing Roxette's famous ballad, she was floored by the fact there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Though she was better than a jukebox or a mockingbird, singing covers never really gave Rita the satisfaction she got from singing herself, or in many cases Runt to sleep. She particularly appreciated the fact that Danny showed absolutely no signs of jealousy, nor had he made any ridiculous attempts to upstage her, as she had come to expect from working with others.

Rita's mind started racing as the limo came to a stop in front of the Waldorf Estoria. Danny had passed out, as he seemed to always do as soon as a car started and for a moment, Rita wasn't sure how to wake him. Fortunately, the driver fixed the problem, blaring the horn, causing the tomcat to perform an exaggerated take that would have made Sylvester himself proud.

"Whoa, that was fast!" Danny exclaimed, rubbing his head.

"It's within walking distance afterall…" Rita attempted to carve the cynicism from her voice.

Danny grinned and leaned over to the driver, whispering something in his ear. The driver smiled, giving the cat a thumbs-up before looking over at Rita. The gray cat immediately put up her defenses.

"What's going on?" she nearly allowed her pitch to go higher, but caught herself in the nick of time.

Danny played with his hat for a moment avoiding eye contact as he nervously giggled.

"You're not…sleepy, are you?"

"Why?" Her answer was so sudden; it was as if she punctuated the question with a right cross.

"My place is close, about a twenty minute drive from here." Danny looked at his shoes, trying to stop his thumbs from twiddling.

"What about it?" She wasn't buying the shy façade at all, glancing over to ensure sure the door was unlocked.

"Sawyer really wanted to meet you tonight. Is that okay?"

Rita stared into Danny's eyes. After a little time, the cat started to hold his breath. Seemingly finding what she was looking for, Rita relaxed her gaze and smiled.

"Fine."

"Just like that?" he mused.

"I think I could take you out if I needed to." Her fangs glistened in the moonlight.

_**16 January 2000 0030 hours**_

It was against her better judgment of course, but something about those old habits is they often manipulate decisions incognito from the darkest crevasses of the mind. Had her senses not been heightened for the purposes of situational awareness in unfamiliar territory, Rita might have meditated on the numerous occasions in the past that led her to analyze a situation to death and _still _throw caution to the wind. Even as Danny led her into the den, she expected the situation to resort to blows. The reality of the present didn't compute for some reason.

True to his reputation, Danny's place was huge. Rita wasn't impressed by much, having never really desired anything more than a stationary bed; some place she could rest whenever she was tired that didn't involve a hunt or a fight to acquire. Standing in the reality of the scenery, Rita felt oddly like she was looking at an 18th century acrylic still life. Absolutely everything was in its place, from the wax fruit to the potted cacti. All except for the worn blanket vibrating in the far corner. Rita looked over at Danny, opening her mouth to say something, but opted to inquire for herself. The closer the cat got, the more intense the quaking became. Gently, but with natural ease, she pulled the blanket down.

"Hello, what do we have here?" Rita's voice was uncharacteristically soft as she knelt next the calico kitten, who seemed frightened out of her mind to have been discovered.

"I'll bet you recognize those mannerisms… twitchy eyes, fear of contact, light." Danny approached as soon as the kitten escaped under the covers once more.

"What do you mean?" Rita asked, not bothering to look at her host.

"It's okay, Rita. Really it is." Danny took a risk, touching her shoulder, but quickly rethought said idea and retracted his paw.

"What do you think you know?" Rita stood up, forgetting their young company in front of them.

Danny looked away, sighing. "Enough."

"What do you think you know about me, Danny?" she grabbed his necktie, forcing the cat to look her in the eye, clearly seeing that he wasn't completely ready for this and required backup.

"Rita…"

The gray cat spun around to find her fellow diva standing in the far corner. Sawyer's voice was understandably raspy, barely above a whisper. Rita watched as the cream-colored cat walked over and carefully scooped up the kitten in the blanket, eliciting a soften whine from the young one.

"She never speaks, but she recognizes malice instantly."

Rita said nothing, taking another look around the room. Her ears perked, as her senses led her attention to a large door at the corridor. Danny smiled softly, leading the party to it.

_**16 January 2000 0035 hours**_

The basenji growled at himself, clearly upset that it took him so long to track Rita's scent to the house. Thanks to the dog's incredible hearing, he knew nothing critical was happening on the inside. Some kind of discussion. Buttons took out his phone, pondering whether he should inform Runt of the situation, but decided against it, as nothing had really transpired yet.

_**16 January 2000 0036 hours**_

As far as Rita's eyes could see, there were rows and rows of three-level bunk beds. Random toys, books and magazines cluttered the carpet. The feline remained silent as Sawyer laid the trembling kitten in a bottom bunk. Not a single kitten acknowledged the adults' presence as they chattered quietly in their beds or slept. After a moment, Danny led them back out of the room, quietly closing the door.

"All these are yours? You must be a jackhammer in the sack…" Rita flashed Danny a shameful look.

"Not mine in that respect. Let's just call it an orphanage for kittens born in bondage," he responded, ignoring her humor.  
>"What's that supposed to mean?"<p>

"You should know. Weren't you in the same situation?"

Rita's eyes sparked with a fierce anger. "What do you know about that?"  
>"Nothing," Danny looked at his feet again. "Sorry. Sawyer does, though."<p>

"Huh?"

Sawyer took a seat next to the gray cat. "You don't remember me. I wouldn't have recognized me, either. We were in the same store for a couple of years or so. They had me in the cage across from you. I used to think you were blind because you never opened your eyes. Just sang all the time…"

_Goin' down the way_

_Goin' down the way,_

_Hope I'm gonna see _

_The sun some day_

_Without the _

_Heeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllllp_

_Of any body_

_Ellllllllll-_

"Stop it!" Rita seemed uncharacteristically shaken.

"You used to sing that every night before bed. When I got bought out, I decided to learn how to sing because of that."

The three sat in silence for a time. Clearly Danny and Sawyer were waiting for Rita to make the next move. Danny frowned, feeling clearly useless in the discussion. He'd come from a breeder and knew very little about the infamous 'pet shops' of the cities.

"Good master?" Rita spoke up after a time.  
>"Died a year later. Cancer. I hear you weren't so lucky."<p>

The gray cat seemed as if a gag had been removed from her mouth, as she started to speak without thought or filter for once. "Most of all, they just wanted me to sing. Occasionally, I'd have to give the high-powered clients a lap dance, but they never wanted me to do anything more." Catching herself, Rita stopped.

Sawyer nudged Danny, and the tomcat hurried off to get them warm glasses on milk. Sawyer's sharp eyes tried to detect tears in her contemporary's eyes but nothing came. After ten minutes Danny returned with the drinks. Rita slowly sipped hers, not bothering to thank him.

"May I ask about the night you met Runt, then? Was that just the exception?" Danny ventured, cautiously.

"Greg had just lost two brothels to a rival dealer. He was desperate for cash and when the gang offered him 3K to run a freight train…"

"He agreed?"

"At first, but it started getting out of hand and Greg told them to stop, but they threw him out of the way. Next thing I knew, the huge mutt I used to see on the street in passing was tearing them off and beating them to death." For some reason, Rita felt better, being able to tell her story without blocking it out by song for a change.

"What'd you do?" Sawyer inquired next.

"Greg drove me to his place and tried to get his doctor friend to come over and take a look at me."

"He didn't come?"  
>"Nope."<p>

"So what'd you do?"

"Nothing much. I couldn't go to the doctors. They'd arrest me for hooking or something. They all knew who I was. Even if you've never done it before, just being associated with Greg is like being branded a whore." Rita finished her milk off and slowly rotated the cup around.

"So Greg was your…"

"Handler. You might say 'pimp', but that's not a really accurate definition."

"So how'd Runt get out so fast? Did you have something to do with it?"  
>Rita put her cup down, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. It felt liberating to not have to match stories with previous lies, as she had grown accustomed to. The truth might not be such a bad consistent practice after all.<p>

"… One of the kids in the gang that night… the youngest one who had a conscious. He got away before Runt could hit him. He found me later and said he'd testify against the boss. Turns out he already had so much crack in his system that he was dead before the lung even collapsed. So the kid didn't have to do anything."

"Did he?" Danny asked, thoroughly interested.

"I convinced him to talk to the judge anyway. For some reason they didn't need my testimony after all to get him released."

"How did you convince him?"  
>"The same way I convinced the judge not to require my testimony. So long as Runt never found out…"<p>

"Oh, Rita. Why?" Both Danny and Sawyer were aghast at how plainly she was able to mull over the truth.

"Why not? Runt's worth it. He's the first one to stand up for me. Just for me. Doesn't even know the truth about Greg. He thinks we're cousins. "

"Still, that's terrible."  
>"Haven't done anything like that in seven years. Never will again, either."<p>

"Great to hear it."

Rita grinned for a moment, standing up and taking a good, long stretch. "So get to the point. Whaddya want with me?"

"Nothing," Danny replied, plainly.

"Excuse me?"  
>"Well, we were wondering if you would be willing to help us expand our orphanage," Sawyer started.<p>

"…"

"Nothing like that! No, It's just that all of these kids have the same thing in common with you and Sawyer. That's no way for kids to come into the world. I've got this vision of a boarding school. An Arts School where we can give these kids a trade, life skills, help them gain confidence, respect and the ability to take care of themselves whenever they choose to leave." Danny beamed as he explained his idea.

Rita's typical smirk preceded her inevitable response, "You're insane."

"No, I'm in New York. What do ya say? Will you help us?" Apparently Danny had anticipated this answer, after all.

_**-End Part Three-**_

_Betcha didn't know Danny doubles as a confessional priest on weekends. ._. What in the world have we gotten ourselves into now?_


	4. Chapter 4

_**16 January 2000 0333 hours**_

"Now just hold on a minute! You got to say that again."

"Look at it. What came first? The virus or the cure? I mean think about it. When did you start hearing about computer viruses? After they started selling that anti-virus software shit."

Buttons glanced at his watch for the tenth time that night. He'd done a decent job of staying inconspicuous, waiting for 'last call'. Funds were low and he was banking on catching a nap in the bar after closing time. Luckily, the bartender and one of his regulars were carrying on back and forth.

"Just like those pharmaceutical companies. First they sell Mary Jane and Coke legally, then they make it illegal and keep producing it."

"Eddy, you don't really believe that nonsense, do you?"

"You're just short-sighted, Biv."

"Next thing you know, you'll be telling me that Roswell was real."

"Huh? Naw, but I got somethin' else. Know why people with dogs live longer than people with cats?"

Buttons' ears perked ever so slightly at this topic.

"Is this some stupid joke about pussy?"

"No, really man. Think about it. You know how dogs'll be staring off into space for a long time and then just start barking their asses off at nothing in particular?"

Buttons could feel the veins in his forehead pulsing. He hated that the majority of his kind took the easy way out.

"So what?"

"Well, cats do the same thing basically, but they don't make any noise."

"Unless they're fuckin' in the alley."

Buttons smirked.

"Well, right, but why not?"

"I dunno."

"Dead people's spirits."

"You idiot. You stole that from that one movie."

"No, think about it. Cats can _see_ spirits, but don't give a shit whether they mess with their masters or not."

"And dogs?"

"They can't see 'em, but they can definitely _smell_ 'em. So they scare them away by barking, cuz they know where their food comes from."

"Huh."

Buttons smashed a peanut in his paw without realizing it. The powder misted to the table through his fingers.

"Hey. Hey dog. You, dog!"

The canine hopped off his barstool and started to leave; knowing that getting included in said conversation was as dangerous as it was pointless. He'd have to find other accommodations for the night.

_**19 January 2000 1601 hours**_

Freewell: Hello and welcome everybody to the seventh annual Furious Fighter Feat tournament brought to you by Konami! I'm Mitch Freewell and with me is the Pancrase legend in the making, Kensuke Hernandez!

Hernandez: How's it goin', Mitch?

Freewell: Always great when a fight's on the cards! And what an opening bout it'll be, with Runt "Val Runt" of "Animaniacs" fame taking on the underground sensation of Sierra Nevada, Machino. Predictions, Ken?

Hernandez: My prediction?

Freewell: Yes. Prediction.

Hernandez: Pain.

Freewell: Now why would you go and quote Mr. T from Rocky 3?

Hernandez: Because the prospect of a mutt verses a coyote just reminds me of it for some reason.

Freewell: So break your cardinal rule for a minute and tell us who you think'll win the match.

Hernandez: We'll find out soon enough, won't we? But I've said it before and I'll say it again, I would never put my money on an actor. Don't care what he was before or after. It just doesn't work out.

Freewell: I hate to burst your bubble, but Runt is one of the heavy favorites to win this tournament.

Hernandez: That's why he'll lose. Not acting anymore and enormous pressure from the top don't equal focus. And I heard his girlfriend won't be here after all. He's got no one to show off for.

Freewell: That may be so, but he also doesn't have to worry about disappointing her with his ruthlessness.

Hernandez: For cryin' out loud, he's an actor. _You_ could take him out if I trained ya for a week.

Freewell: Well, the referee has given the instructions and we're going to round one.

Hernandez: Now what the hell was that?

Freewell: Oh my god…Folks, I think we have a winner already.

Hernandez: Ya think? Medic!

_**January 26 2000 1743 hours**_

Nearly a week had passed since the makeshift duo had performed on stage together. The inevitable staple of unscrupulous speculations aside, Rita seemed genuinely pleased to be performing alongside Danny. He was every bit as energetic as he'd been on-screen. At times the grey tawny found it difficult to keep up. Sitting in her dressing room, Rita stared into the makeup mirror, lost in thought.

She'd have been lying had she admitted to pondering the very idea presented to her by the couple. Survival of the fittest was her general motto after all. No real lifelines had been thrown at her growing up. Why should she inhibit young ones in the time where they should be developing the coping skills to be self-sufficient, only to leave them on their own just after the window of opportunity to become efficient in being self sufficient ended? A knock on her door caused the topic to dissolve into the back of her psyche.

"Yes?"

"Fifteen minutes, Ms. Rita," the shrilled voice of the second's assistant came through the door.

"Okay!" she replied. The young raccoon never built up the courage to stay at the door. From the first time they met, Rita knew the kid would never graduate from fetching coffees. Poor guy.

Five minutes later, another knock caused the cat to come out of her semi-trance as she stared at the blemish under her left eye. Before she could respond, there was a scratching at the lock for a moment, then the door flung opened. Out of sheer instinct, Rita smashed the intruder with the closest object her paws could grab; a hairdryer.

"Gah!"

It was a vaguely familiar voice, but Rita hadn't bothered to see who it was, as she was focused on finding a larger weapon. Before she could strike a second time with a vase, she felt a firm paw grip her arm.

"Quit it, already!"

Rita had to tilt her neck to the limit to see who it was. She gasped at the sight of her old co-worker. They had never spoken before, but she knew him well, from his friendship with her partner.

"Man, that smarts. I guess you didn't need protection after all!"

Rita cocked her head as she put down the vase, raising a questioning eyebrow at Buttons.

"What protection?" she mused. The dog made his way over to a chair, rubbing his head where he'd been struck. He could feel the swelling come already.

"I'd say 'sorry', but you should've knocked instead of picking the lock."

"You wouldn't have answered anyways. Never have."

"…"

"Yeah, that was me all those times back in the studios."

"What'd you want back then, any way?"  
>"…Can't really remember. Not that it's important now. We've got some business to talk about right now."<p>

Rita smirked. "Business?"

"Actually, I'm in a bit of a delicate situation right now, so I have to blow my cover," Buttons began.

"What cover?" Rita asked, glancing at her watch. "And make it quick, alright?"

Buttons smiled, showing his teeth. "Basically, Runt hired me to look out for you for awhile while you were doing your tour thing. I just got a message that he's out of the tournament and on his way here. Hospital just cleared him."

The cat's eyes dilated and her blood ran cold. Any rage she'd have shown from the dog's initial confession was doused by concern for her other half. "What happened to him?"

Buttons shrugged. "Lost his first match. Knocked out by the first punch. I guess he wasn't focused or something. Had a concussion after hitting the mat and went into a coma for a day or two. I'm surprised you didn't know…"

Rita looked at her foot paws, saying nothing for a moment. "So he sent you to _spy_ on me, did he?"

The tall dog gave her a confused look. He'd expected that she would have been concerned about Runt for longer than this. "Err… protect from a distance. He didn't want you to find out."

"So why're you telling me?"

"He'll be here tomorrow evening, but I can't wait that long for him to pay me. I've got something of an emergency back home and I have to get out tonight. Could you gimme enough for a one-way ticket to San Francisco?"

Rita glanced at her watch. Without a word, she reached into her purse and handed the dog a wad of cash. Pointing to the time, she scowled.

"Thanks!" Buttons dashed out the door, sticking his head back in at the last second. "Don't tell Runt…"

Sighing, Rita slammed the door on the dog's nose and closed her eyes for a bit. If Runt were flying in, he couldn't have been too messed up. Had he planned for this to happen? To lose in the first fight? Or was he really distracted? By what?

"It's show time, Ms. Rita!"

Stretching long and hard, the cat put it all in the back of her mind. She was good at that. Rita frowned as she opened the door. For the most part, anyway.

_**January 27 2000 0040 hours**_

Adjusting her seat yet again, the gray cat gave up on being comfortable as the van hopped and tripped across the cobblestone road. This was her first night on patrol and if she were honest with herself, she might admit that she was a bit afraid. Looking over at the couple in the backseat, she frowned, silently missing her companion.

"Y-y-y-y-y-y-o-u-u-u-u-u o-o-o-o-o-oka-y-y-y-y-y-y?" Danny stammered as his teeth chattered in time with the bumpy ride.

Rita nodded, relaxing her expression so as not to draw any more attention to herself. They were headed for the pet shop where she and Sawyer had first met. Judging from the expression on the other feline's face, neither one was keen to return.

About 30 meters from the location, the van parked behind a wall. Filing out of the vehicle, the three confirmed their supplies, eyes gleaming in the night sky.

"Remember," Danny whispered hoarsely. "We've only got room for nine so that's three each. Three minutes. Meet back at location "F", not here. Got it?"

"Shut it, Daniel," Sawyer cooed. "You'll get us caught."

With no further theatrics, the liberators split up to infiltrate the location.

Rita was a creature of habit and chose a barred up window she used to look out of as a kitten. Not that she could recall it well, but the bars on it had seemed so brittle compared to the others, which was why she'd chosen to stare at it in the first place. Leaping noiselessly to the ledge, she tried her luck. The bar bent and snapped open like twigs.

Once inside, Rita made her way over to the nearest cage. Five puppies were huddled in a group, fast asleep. Forgetting the numbers she'd been told, Rita silently picked the lock. The door creaked something awful, causing one of the puppies to roll over. As he started to yip, Rita knew that she was as good as caught if she stayed around and escaping in haste with five puppies in a sack would put them in unnecessary danger.

Making a split decision, Rita leapt for the window, but felt something cold snag her ankle. Kneeling to investigate the problem, she felt a rough palm forcefully cover her mouth as she was dragged to the ground. Immediately realizing she'd been caught, Rita attempted to set off her signal, but found her arms useless as they two felt the cold snag. Some type of cuffs or chains, she imagined. Thrashing around as wildly as her predicament would allow, Rita tried to get a glimpse of her noiseless adversary to no avail. Suddenly, the oppressor started to throttle her neck, letting go of her mouth, only to gag her with a bandana. As the cloth was roughly tied at the back of her head, Sawyer or Danny made a noise on the other side of the room, causing the weight on Rita to immediately be released. All of a sudden, she saw what she thought to be a leg in front of her as the dark figure took aim with a weapon of some sort. Without thinking of the repercussions, Rita kicked the leg as hard as she could with her one free foot, causing the aim to be off, alerting the others.

"Rita?" Sawyer whispered loudly from the other side of the room. As soon as the ivory cat heard the heavy footsteps, she made her exit as swiftly as she'd come. On the other side of the room, Rita could see Danny's shoes as he searched frantically for her. Another three pairs of boots tried to surround him, but he was able to evade them. It sounded as if he, too made it out of the pet shop. Rita grinned. At least they'd gotten away, or at least had a better chance of escaping. Her grin quickly faded as a huge hum of lights flooded the room. She was chained to a floor panel under a long table. She could now count seven pairs of boots in various locations slowly approaching her table. No one was talking. No one was after Danny or Sawyer. Just converging in on her. Rita bit as hard as she could at the bandana, but couldn't seem to shred the cloth. Protracting her claws, Rita tried to pull her arms towards any of the chains in an attempt to free herself. Nothing worked. Nothing stopped the footsteps from closing in. Flashes of the past, long buried began to surface, speeding through her head, making it impossible for Rita to tell past from present. Just as the gray cat began to get dizzy, she cringed as the table above her made a screeching sound as somebody pushed it aside, exposing the feline to her captors' faces.

_**-End Part Four-**_

…


	5. Chapter 5

_**January 27 2000 0045 hours**_

_"…I don't know which species is worse. You don't see them fucking each other over for a goddamn percentage."- LT. Ellen Ripley 1__st__ Class_

Writhing in her chains, the gray cat spat, determined to make this the hardest job they'd ever have to earn. The fact that they weren't even human had no visible impact on the cat at all. They were about their business, it was clear. No snickering or lustful stares. All were fully clothed and alert, wondering how best to subdue the prey with minimal damage to either. Rita glared at the orange-tan manx at her right foot. He was the closest to her and seemed to be in charge.

"Don't scratch anyone, okay?"

Rita stopped struggling and focused exclusively on the manx.

"Or what?"

The manx made some sort of sign language and the gray and black striped cat handed him a cattle prod. Giving the other custody of the rope, the manx strode over near Rita's head, carefully staying out of striking distance.

"I can keep it set on low or change it to medium," he stated coldly. "Though I suggest you don't do anything to make me lean towards medium, unless you're fond of throbbing."

Rita relaxed enough to get the other cat to slacken the rope. Assuming they were dealing with a lesser being, the manx took a step towards the gray feline only to recoil in pain as Rita kicked him as hard as her bonds would allow. The other cats glanced at their leader, wondering how he'd react. No clue of emotion escaped his stone-cold face. Turning the dial down to the lowest possible setting, the manx jabbed their captive in the side, eliciting a slight grimace from the gray cat.

"Not too bad, huh?" he mused, taking a step closer. Suddenly, Rita read his intentions and squeezed her eyes shut. The manx zapped her multiple times in different places until she was completely drained of physical resistance. Taking a step back to catch his breath, the manx admired his handiwork, seeing the involuntary twitch in their victim.

"Loosen the restraints," he ordered, suddenly. The other cats looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Take off her chains!"

Fearing repercussions from a third warning, a few cats uncuffed Rita, who didn't seem to notice at all, as she continued huddling in a ball, shivering from the electrical assault. The manx looked down at his keychain, fiddling through the different keys for a moment. Turning his attention back to his cronies, he ordered them out with a hand gesture. A second gesture was unnecessary. As the last cat closed the door behind him, Rita rolled on her side, aware that they were alone, save the cages of young animals around them.

"They're still quiet around the zekes, I see." Her words were barely a whisper.

The manx smirked, taking a step towards Rita. "We're not zookeepers, we're providing a necessary service to society." He took a knee, gripping her chin, forcing her to face him before making a one-word inquisition. The puppies she'd tried to save buried their faces in their paws.

"_Still_?"

Rita grimaced, unable to physically resist her adversary. A thin line of drool involuntarily dangled from her bottom lip, a by-product of the shock treatment she'd recently been administered. The manx produced a handkerchief, wiping the saliva off. Squeezing Rita's face, he waited for a response.

"_Fuck _you," she was able to muster with such venom that the manx let go and backed up slightly for a moment. All of a sudden, an ominous expression spread across his face to the gray cat's dismay.

"Fuck…_me_?"

Suddenly the floodlights brightened up the room causing the manx to rise to his feet quickly.

"Julius!" A voice boomed from behind. "You forget your place. No one damages the goods. We don't have an employee checkout policy." Rita strained to see the heavyset human in an expensive looking three-piece suit approaching them.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Xidon. Lost my cool for a minute, there."

Julius stood as if at attention as the man stared down at Rita.

"Hmm. Certainly doesn't smell like street trash," he observed, wrinkling his nose. "She'll fetch a decent enough price."

Rita growled at these words, tears stinging her eyes.

"I'm not for sale!" she managed to climb to her knees ready to defy the others until she had nothing left. All the young animals surrounding them held their collective breaths in anticipation. She'd lost this fight once before and the results had been nothing more than a one-way ticket to Hell.

Neither Julius nor Xidon looked impressed at this. Pointing to the irons on the floor, Xidon glared at Julius.

"Yessir. Right away." The orange feline quickly clamped the chain around Rita's neck, assured that her show of strength was simply a bluff.

"Julius, you getting' soft, boy?" Xidon queried, examining the cattle prod. Rita watched in horror as the human turned the knob in the opposite direction before pointing it at her. Zapping the gray cat in the side was nothing more than swatting a fly to him.

"C'mon and bring that," he ordered, producing his cellular phone. Julius carefully scooped up the unconscious feline and followed suit.

"Hey, Gregory?" Xidon spoke into the receiver. "You still in the market for a grayish tabby?"

_**January 27 2000 0145 hours**_

"What do we have, Gusmales?"

"Male tabby, approximately 33 years old. Lacerations to the head from the windshield, possibly ruptured spleen. Female Chausie, about 27 years of age, lots of shrapnel on her back and possible concussion."

"What's a Chausie?"

"Breed of cat. French."

"Geez, could you be any more of a nerd?"

"How long they been out?"  
>"The car flipped over on the side of the highway. I guess they weren't there long before they were spotted since the vehicle was still on fire when we arrived."<p>

"Anything else?"

"Couldn't see any bullet holes in the vehicle from our vantage point, but looks like the male might have been shot in the leg, too."

"Might have been?"

"No powder burns…"

"Not that _that _matters."

_**January 27 2000 0450 hours**_

Alerting the authorities was out of the question. Most pet shops were officially illegal in the first place, so if the police were to get involved, the place would be closed and policy dictated that the young animals had to be euthanized when the shelters were full, which they always were this time of year. Even adopting them was out of the question, as Danny hadn't been through the proper channels yet and if the authorities were to investigate, all of his kids would be taken away and likely euthanized as well.

Sawyer attempted for the fifth time to move without success. The drugs hadn't affected her cognition, but completely halted her physical abilities. The tube up her nose was most uncomfortable. The tube in her throat made speaking an impossibility. It all seemed so unnecessary. It was Danny she was worried about.

He'd dragged her across the field to the car, covering up his limp. Throwing her in the backseat, he had asserted that they couldn't be any use caught… It was only then when she noticed the scent of blood in the air. The next thing she knew, the car was doing a barrel roll. Then this.

_**January 27 2000 0843 hours**_

"Gave us a scare there, miss!"

The tubes in her face were gone and the sun shone in the window. Sawyer scoped out her surroundings wide-eyed. A hospital? Her attention immediately turned to the IV in her arm, triggering her trypanophobia. Before she could rip the needle out, the nurse caught her arms, anticipating this action. Her physical resistance dissipated shortly thereafter, the nurse covered the arm with a towel, eliciting limited compliance from the feline.

"Pleasure to meet you."

Sawyer blinked, a bit confused at first.

"You're in that one movie, right? I thought I recognized your name when I came on," the nurse continued as she jotted down things in her chart, looking at the instruments and monitors.

"Danny…?" she inquired slowly.

The nurse grinned in response. "He's going to be fine. It was a bit of touch and go for a while, but Dr. Adler was pleased with the surgery.

"Sur-…?"

" It wasn't major, as far as surgeries go. Just some stitches on his scalp. Very punk rock, I might add. Knowing his energy and your species, he'll be back on his feet in a week and better than ever. Lucky cats!" the nurse winked, stopping at the side of her bed.

"Rita?" the ivory cat's eyes shot open as her mind raced a million miles a minute.

"Who?"

Sawyer looked the nurse directly in the eyes, hoping that she was joking.

She was not.

"Far be it for me to pry, but Danny had a bullet graze his shin," the nurse began causing the cat to break out into a cold sweat. "I wouldn't do that if the cop asks you," she added, leaving the room.

_**January 27 2000 1504 hours**_

Nostalgia is a luxury afforded to those often too foolish to realize its value. The gray feline sighed, trying desperately to get comfortable in a cage that was made for a smaller animal; perhaps a ferret or a groundhog. She could neither stand up nor sit down, which also made sleeping impossible, despite the complete absence of light. Rita surmised that she was in a broom closet or something similar.

Just outside, it sounded like a typical business day in any neighborhood pet shop (at least before they became outlawed in most states). She could hear patrons cooing at the cute little turtles, kittens, puppies and hamsters. She took exception to the fact that on more than one occasion hamsters had a higher going rate than felines did.

Consequently, every time she heard a sale of a kitten, the memory of her family giving her to this very store all those years ago became a bit clearer.

She wasn't alone in said fate; it was common practice. When the litter was too big, you had to get rid of some. In her case, of course, just one. She couldn't recall it vividly, not even her mother's face. Little details just seemed to jump out at her every so often. She had two brothers and four sisters. Never met her father. Little things like that. Despite evidence to the contrary, Rita thought of her family often, wondering how her siblings' lives had turned out, who her father was and if they ever thought of her. She'd never really given thought to how her mother had picked _her_ to leave out of the litter. It seemed an inappropriate question, as she wouldn't have wished those circumstances on her worst enemy, let alone her family. Years ago, she tried to convince herself that her mother knew that of all the others, she was the strongest so she could make it. Yet still… that was why it was best not to think about it.

The handcuffs and gag were as unnecessary as they were uncomfortable. The last thing Rita wanted to do was bring attention to herself. Force the bastards' hand. It was the **waiting** she hated. Regardless of the fact that she spent hours on end zoning out, doing nothing anyway, the fact that it was _her _choice to do so made all the difference. Had the feline any tears left in her ducts, the customers would have noticed a river coming from the closet she was in.

_**January 27 2000 1945 hours**_

"Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get some hazelnut, detective? It'll be at least another hour before he wakes up. I'll page you if anything changes."

The stocky mutt stalked past the police officer in the hallway as he headed for the officer's point of departure. The two exchanged glances, brows furrowing as they made eye contact for a moment. Having sensed that the cops would be present from the voicemail, the dog made it a point to not rush anywhere in the hospital, lest he bring unnecessary attention to himself. Stopping a few steps from his destination, Runt heard hushed whispering coming from the room. He cleared his throat loudly, causing the voices to stop as he appeared in the entranceway.

"Yes?" the nursed inquired defensively. "May I help you?" It sounded more like a threat than formality. The dog smirked, not at all surprised that even a nurse would regard him with suspicion. There was just no pleasing humans.

"How is he?" the mutt queried, making his way to the opposite side of the bed. Just at a glance, Runt could tell that Danny was playing possum from the way he squinched his eyes shut.

"Still very much out of it, I'm afraid."

Runt smiled at this. Although even a gullible toddler could tell she was lying through her teeth, she did so without a moment's hesitation to protect her patient. He knew all about this behavior, having done the same for Rita countless times.

"Give us a minute, 'kay?" He couldn't bring himself to ask politely. The nurse grimaced, clenching her clipboard tightly.

"I'm not out to get 'im, anyway. Go find that cop and tell him a bad guy's come or something, just get out of her for a few seconds okay?" the dog had reached the peak of his patience faster than he'd expected. The nurse looked him straight in the eyes for a moment, staring at his pupils. Before long, she relented, closing the door behind him. Runt thought he heard her mumble "five minutes" as she strode away violently.

As soon as the footsteps became hollow, Runt turned towards his mark, lips curled up in a hateful snarl.

"Spill it, ass clown," he demanded. The cat winced in response, but kept his eyes shut. Before he even noticed he did it, Runt slapped Danny across the face, demanding compliance. Wide-eyed and horrified, the singer sat up as best as he could.

"I'm sorry, Runt. I can't believe it happened like that. I didn't know she would-" Danny's weak voice trailed off as he relived the events in his head.

"Spill it now!"

Four minutes and thirty seconds later, the nurse returned with the police officer, only to find her patient with a glossy look on his face and a fat lip.

_**January 27 2000 2005 hours**_

Guns were something Runt could never get used to. Besides being a lousy shot, there was no real commitment with pulling a trigger. If Runt were going to take a life, he'd rather have had ample time to think of his actions in the process of doing so. Yet even as he turned onto the gravel road leading up to his destination, a sense of hesitation crept up through his spine. He had no real idea of what he was up against and the fact that there didn't seem to be anyone on lookout confused him further. He was never one for stealth, naturally not very light on his feet and a bit too large to hide.

Within mere meters of the front door the mutt had his first stroke of luck in years. Ducking behind a large bush, the dog waited as two cats exited the premises.

"Let's go ya filthy slut!" A strong Jersey accent that Runt immediately recognized as the cousin. It took every fiber of the dog's being to restrain himself after hearing the subsequent slap across her face. The cats hurried into the woods, away from the store and prying eyes with Runt tracking their every step from a marginally safe distance. The millisecond the mutt could tell the three were alone, he quadrupled his pace tackling his mark, shoving the cat's muzzle into the dirt.

"_Move'nyerdead_."

The cat complied, relaxing his muscles as best as he could in the given circumstances.

"Runt?"

The dog kept his eyes on his mark, not wanting any distractions even from her.

"Don't…"

"_Quiet!_" he snarled, glancing up. The twinkle of metal shone silently in the night. He knew that shine. Cuffs.

"_Where'sthefuckin'key?_" he breathed, grinding Greg's face on a pebble, eliciting a harrowing squeal from the subdued feline. Noticing the chain necklace on the cat, Runt yanked it off, finding the handcuff keys.

"Get out of here, Rita," he ordered, putting the cuffs on Greg.

"Runt, no."

"Why the fuck not?" stepping on Greg, Runt finally faced his better half. His resolve weakened for a moment, until his eyes came upon the bruise on her cheek that was clearly visible in the moonlight. Spinning the cat over, the mutt growled as he began pummeling.

Rita was aghast. It'd been years since she'd seen this side of her soul mate. Unsure of how else to get his attention, she flung herself atop Runt's back.

"Rita, what the hell are you doing?" The mutt maneuvered the feline off of his back, careful not to use too much force.

"Wait! It's not what you think! He saved me." Rita looked as if she were going to be sick.

"Say what?" Runt faced Greg once more as the cat tried to squirm away.

"It's true! They were slave traders. Gonna sell me to the highest bidder, so Greg acted like he was interested and was gonna let me go as soon as we were out of sight."

Runt slugged Greg in the gut twice. "Bullshit. BULLSHIT!"

"It's true! He's not my cousin. I lied about that. I don't know why, but I had to." Rita covered her mouth suddenly, having spoken without filtering her words for once. The pain on Runt's face was palpable.

"He's a pimp, Rita. He wanted you to trust him again so you'd do whatever he told you to."  
>"No! He's a good cat. He just…"<p>

"Ain't no damn way he was gonna fork over all that money to get you out just to let you go." Runt slammed Greg in the nose, causing a gusher of blood to spray in every direction.

"He never made me do those things everyone else had to! He's not bad!" Rita's protest seemed frantic and illogical at this point.

"'A happy ho produces mo, 'specially when she has a sho.' That's what they used to say on my block."

"I'm not a ho, you bastard!" The feline slapped the mutt across the face, causing Runt to look away again.

"I know, but he doesn't. He wouldn't let you go. So now he has to fuckin' die!"

"No!"

"Gawddamnnit Rita!"

"You pissed at me, Runt?"

…

"You pissed off at me? If you go to jail again for this, what am I going to do? How can I endure that again? You know I didn't sing one day while you were in prison last time. You know that? Is killing him worth that much to you?"

Further discussion was unnecessary, as Greg lay motionless beneath the behemoth mongrel. Rising to his feet, Runt started to walk away from the scene, looking over his shoulder at Rita to see if she would follow him. Blinking a tear away from her eye, Rita joined Runt, unsure of herself for the first time. Looking into the cat's eyes, Runt sighed, walked over to Greg and scooped him up.

"There's a hospital not too far from the freeway," he murmured, causing Rita to kiss him on the cheek.

_**-End Part 5-**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**January 30th 2000 1115 hours**_

Historic cemeteries are curious locations. Indeed the majority of visitors are of no relation to any tenets of the grounds and they tend to be much noisier than the typical fair. Even in death, children of the limelight cannot find peace and solace; at least for those resting at Hollywood Memorial Park. The Struedeper family had erected an elaborate mausoleum there some years back. Never had it crossed a single soul's mind that the youngest of the family would take up eternal residence there before anyone in the previous three generations. Alas, such is life… or death in this instance.

Runt's first order of business, upon arriving home had initially been to track down his well-financed pinch hitter who was AWOL just when he had his duty to fulfill. A hovering cloud of guilt caused the mutt to stumble on the cobblestone.

"You okay?"

He felt her soft paws on his waist trying to steady him. Runt smiled in response, not wanting to worry Rita further. On any other day, she'd have smirked and said something like 'Walk much?'

Before long, the pair stood before the Struedeper Mausoleum and all its architectural glory. The mourners had long since dispersed, as the service had been held two days prior. Only a single being remained, sitting on the grass outside the tomb, not quite facing it, or anything for that matter. Runt stood back and watched as Rita took a knee next to Buttons, made a sign of the cross with her paw and said a silent prayer. The basenji looked over at the cat as she prayed and silently rose to his feet, careful not to disturb her as he walked past Runt. The two canines locked eyes for a moment, and Runt couldn't find any appropriate words to use. From Buttons' expression, the mutt gathered that it was entirely possible to dislike someone immensely and love them just the same.

When Rita finished her prayer, Buttons was out of sight. Joining her partner, she touched Runt's cheek gently.

"C'mon," she coaxed softly, leading him to the front of the mausoleum. She was privy to the fact that unlike felines, many dogs were generally agnostic, though Runt had subtly showed interest in her practices throughout the years. He gave her an inquisitive look as he knelt the way she always had.

"Close your eyes and relax. The words will come, then."

Despite his preclusions, Runt obeyed, trying to clear his thoughts. Though the 'words' never came, after a few minutes he took a chance and opened his eyes. Rita's smile beamed through him and for a moment he really did start to hear words that weren't of his own machinations. Of course they had nothing at all to do with the reason they were in the cemetery in the first place, so he put them out of his mind as they rose to their feet.

_**February 13th 2000 1300 hours**_

_Sometimes you wanna follow_

_The wet, winding stream…_

_ Sometimes you wanna feel_

_The sea up to your knees…_

_Sometimes the southern wind_

_Makes a hurricane blow…_

_ Sometimes a volcano_

_Can make a garden grow…_

For all their trials, tribulations and shared misery, it was a wonder how well Rita and Runt could block out their worries and enjoy life at a whim. Today's chosen asylum of temporary amnesia was a local park not far from the bay. In days past, it was always a hassle, going out in broad daylight in the public eye, though these days the few that recognized either star were generally true fans that had a considerably higher amount of restraint and respect for privacy than the general public. That and the fact that it wasn't difficult for either of them to blend in a crowd…'Ya seen one cat, ya seen 'em all.' Having previously asserted to one another that the events of the immediate past were best kept there, the couple had little fuel for conversation, which was fine by Runt.

"Damnit to hell!"

The mutt watched as Rita slammed her drink on the concrete, already aware of the source of her frustration.

"Watered down?" he ventured.

Rita rolled her eyes. "$4.50 for this. Can you believe it? Why don't they put plastic around the ice cubes before they put them in the drinks?"

Runt contemplated this idea for a moment, seriously considering the pros and cons of the proposed solution.

"Plastic would get caught in your straw or people might choke on it or something…" he reasoned.

Rita smirked, vigorously shaking her cup before taking another sip.

"Maybe."

Without another thought, the dog emptied the contents of his own drink into Rita's cup.

"That's why I get mine without ice."

The cat grinned. "But then it's not cold enough," she reasoned.

"So this should be just right then, eh?" the mutt grinned back.

Rita smiled coolly, putting Runt's straw next to hers. The two took a drink simultaneously.

"Much better!" the short singer exclaimed.

Runt sat back, taking a long, deep breath and held it for a moment. As he exhaled, he gradually let his guard down, thoroughly enjoying the experience. As per usual, the lapse in defenses was prematurely interrupted.

"Yer two bucks short! No dice."

They turned their attention to the hot dog stand where they'd just bought their drinks from. The vendor was making a threatening motion towards a young raccoon who couldn't have been more than nine years old. The kid produced a couple of more dirty coins, laying them on the man's counter pointing to his meager pile of money and a hot dog once more.

"Scram, kid! Take your filth with ya!" the man swung at the raccoon, eliciting further confusion from him. Clearly he spoke very little English, if any. The vendor, completely out of patience and offended by the mere presence of vermin at his stand ball up his fist and swung once more at the youth's fist, catching nothing but the palm of a gray cat.

Rita's icy scowl took the man by surprise and he jumped back only to find eight quarters in his hand.

"That's enough, right?" she hissed. The vendor nodded, handing her the food. Rita offered the hot dog to the raccoon, who refused to accept it in front of the vendor.

"C'mon, then," she cooed, carefully putting her arm around his shoulder, leading the kid away.

Arriving back at the bench where Runt was sitting, Rita shrugged her shoulders, offering the snack to the raccoon once more. He seemed slightly malnourished and his fur was disheveled. Sneaking a glance at Runt who didn't seem interested at all and back at the vendor, who was peddling off in the opposite direction, the kit sniffed the hotdog a couple of times and snatched it from Rita's grasp, assuming she was teasing him about giving up the goods. Rita knew this behavior all too well, frowning slightly as he devoured his small meal in three bites.

"Chrei chaou chimi!" the raccoon stated gleefully, looking at Rita. She grinned in response, glancing at Runt, who shrugged his shoulders.

"No problem, kiddo." she spoke, guessing his intentions.

"Chai chousu che chuni…" and with that, the kit hugged Rita quickly and took off in the opposite direction. Runt stood up, waiting to get Rita's reaction. The feline closed her eyes, suffocating a tear, and forced a smile.

"Wishing well coins," she whispered, starting to walk. Runt followed, a concerned look on his face. This was the standard currency of many street children. Maybe she was thinking about New York after all.

_**February 14th 2000 0100 hours**_

"Happy Valentine's day."

Runt stifled a yawn. "Isn't that supposed to be punctuated with a present or somethin'?" he mused, closing the door. Rita hadn't been to his place since they returned from New York and her venturing over in the middle of the night was a bit surprising to the mutt. Granted, it was only a few steps across the hallway, but even so…

Closing the door, Runt found the cat sitting on the bed. There really wasn't any other furniture in his apartment, yet this put him on edge nonetheless. Trying to relax in the threshold, he attempted to look casual, caught off-guard by his sudden hesitation. The cat stretched slowly, batting an eyelash as she faced him.

_ Every so often… we stop playin' games,_

_Can't always pretend… things never change,_

_ Each time I see you… I'm wondering why,_

_Why we're waiting…for what? To die?_

Rita seemed to have lost her bravado as Runt took the chance and took a seat at the foot of the bed. They sat for a period in silence, both of their minds racing a million miles a minute. Just as the hesitation had drained from the mutt's body, the feline stroked his cheek, causing a shock to go through his entire being, shaking him to the core.

_ What's goin' on?_ he pondered. It wasn't as if they hadn't been in this situation before. _Come to think of it…_ they hadn't really progressed beyond this since before she went to New York. Thinking back, he remembered their first time…the very night 'Les Miseranimals' aired. That, Runt grinned, had been a very wonderful night indeed. Scooting closer to Rita, he decided not to question his luck…

As the banging on the door came, the dog bore his fangs. Nothing could possibly be so important at this time of night in this situation. Rolling his eyes, Runt glanced at Rita who wore an equally incredulous expression on her own face.

"Hold that thought," he whispered getting up to answer the door. The persistent knocker seemed to be trying to bang a hole in the door. Not bothering to inquire the identity of the third party, he swung open the door to find a tired expression on an equally old face. Runt's jaw dropped as his memory kicked in.

"Not so great to see you, either." the unwelcomed guest commented.

"Detective Carowitz?"

"It's **lieutenant**, now. Did I interrupt something?" the cop nodded towards Rita, whose scowl deepened at these words. "What has it been, almost eight years?"

"Cut to the chase and quick." Runt growled, having run out of patience.

Carowitz smiled his condescending smile. "Could you step outside, please Mr. Meridian?" He'd tricked the dog twice with this in the past.

Runt smirked. "I'm good here, thanks. What do you want?"

"There's a certain tomcat who has filed assault charges against you. Metro PD is en route to take you into custody." There was a sterile, dry tone about the officer that Runt could tell was sincere.

Rita jumped off the bed towards the doorway, trying to take a swipe at Carowitz. Runt had a difficult time attempting to restrain her.

"So why're you telling me this?" Runt tried to keep a cool head, knowing full well what would result of him simply being himself.

"You have three options, really," Carowitz stated dodging Rita's claws a few times. "You could stay here and wait for them to pick you up, you could try and get out of town and spend the rest of your life on the lam, which is a stupid option, if you ask me, because then _she_ becomes an accessory."

"Option three?"

"You come with me. I'll escort you to the station and we can get your side of the story and you might even have a chance of beating the case or getting the charges lessened. There won't have to be any violence involved in apprehending you and they'll have to prove their case. You get a lawyer and maybe even get on the street instead of jail before your trial."

"You wouldn't do all that," Runt observed. "You can't guarantee shit, anyway, and you'd be sticking your neck out for an ex-con. Why would you risk your rep?"

"Take it how you will, but I see a different dog today than last time," the cop began. "You got your act together, kept your nose clean for nearly a decade and it's a two-bit pimp wannabe filing charges against you, not a responsible citizen."

Runt raised an eyebrow. "You getting' soft on me?"

Carowitz grinned, dodging Rita's claw for the 40th time. "Things just stop making sense to a guy after awhile… I don't really care what happens as long as my conscience is clear."

"You dyin' or something?"

"Everybody's dying. Some faster than others. You coming?"

Runt looked at Rita, who refused to make eye contact with him.

"If I go here, you gotta make sure nothin' happens to her. And I'm not talkin' about protective custody or some shit like that. Just make sure nothin' happens to her while I'm gone. You got a sister, right?"

Carowitz smirked, remembering the question. "Yeah," he replied. "I got a sister."

Turning to Rita once more, Runt gently pulled her chin to face him. Finally making eye contact, the dog lost his nerve, forgetting the words he was going to say. The feline was in worse shape, unable to articulate any comprehensible thought. The two stayed like that until Carowitz pulled on Runt's shoulder slightly, causing the mutt to close the door to his apartment. He winced, hearing Rita collapse against the door.

_**-End Part 6-**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**February 14th 2000 0151 hours**_

"Thought I wasn't under arrest."

Lieutenant Carowitz closed the door slowly, taking his time to face the mutt. The guilt on his face was conspicuous. Taking a deep breath, the man cleared his throat.

"If I stick around for the processing, will you cooperate?"

"Why would you wanna go and do that?"

"You fly off the deep end and they're going to have a decision before the bond hearing even begins."

"Guilty until proven innocent."

"Play the cards you're dealt, but try and fix the deck if you can."

Runt glared at the officer.

"Kinda hard to fix the deck from this side of the table," he shifted in his chair jiggling his cuffs. "How's the view from the top?"

Carowitz smirked. "I wish I were at the top."

Runt's ears perked ever so slightly.

"What is it?" the cop inquired looking at the door.

The mutt inhaled for a moment, contemplating something as Carowitz looked back at him just in time to see his eyes dilate in recognition.

"Who's coming?" he repeated, standing up.

Runt grinned, turning his attention past the lieutenant to the door.

Before long, it opened.

"Interview's over, officer."

Carowitz banged the desk in frustration.

"Are you on call twenty-four/seven, counselor?" he demanded, facing the middle-aged mink. She maneuvered past the man to her unsuspecting client. Eyeing the cuffs, the lawyer's eyes narrowed.

"Are those necessary to a cooperating witness?"

Carowitz stood up walking towards the door.

"He's been arrested. We don't arrest witnesses."

"So you coerced him into coming here with false pretenses? Interesting enough," Minerva smirked. "Give my client and I some privacy, won't you?"

"I wouldn't go this route," the lieutenant spoke up, looking at Runt as he left closed the door.

The dog was dumbfounded, to say the least.

"Sorry I couldn't get the cuffs off," Minerva smiled, taking a seat next to her old co-worker. "I'm more of a civil case attorney to tell the truth."

"What're you doing here?" Runt blurted out, finally finding his voice.

"Good to see you're still a sweet talker," Minerva laughed, trying to calm the mutt's nerves.

_**February 14th 2000 0330 hours**_

"I can't believe you got me R.O.R.," the mutt breathed, walking out of the facility. "How can I ever thank you?"

"Show up for your trial," the mink said, leading Runt to her Miata. "Or it's my ass."

"And a lovely one at that, to be sure."

Before the third party's paw could follow up with a pat, Runt intercepted at the last moment, growling at the stranger. The husky wolf had a mischievous glint in his eyes tainted with a shade of unholy terror. Producing a brush from his suit coat, he brushed the paw Runt had touched off with delicate care before slapping the mutt across the muzzle with it as he concealed it once more. An ominous feeling and the flash of several yellow pairs of eyes in the distance stopped the dog from returning the favor.

"Good boy." The wolf smirked, patting the mutt's tuft of hair. "Yo, Galford!"

Runt took a step closer to Minerva as one of the red wolves in the shadows approached. He and Runt were about the same size, about a head shorter than the alpha calling the shots. Galford shoved a sheet of paper into the mutt's paw before disappearing once more into the darkness.

"104th…?" Runt struggled to read the scribble. Upon recognizing it as his old roommate's place gone up in smoke, he locked eyes with the wolf for the first time. "You?"

The wolf smirked. "Just make sure you show up for your trial. Wouldn't want to see any more accidents hitting closer to home, right?"

"Let's go, Runt." Minerva spoke up, unlocking her car.

Runt stood for a minute staring at the wolf as he casually strolled to the back of the parking lot.

"Get in!" her voice was bordering on desperation.

_**February 14th 2000 1100 hours**_

On the rare occasion that they even were up early enough for breakfast, neither Rita nor Runt wasted savoring each moment. Minerva had dropped the dog off at his place, explaining that Rita had phoned her the second he left for the station. After a brief debriefing about the known details surrounding the trial, Minerva took off to see her own lover, leaving the two in an awkward silence. After six hours of faking sleep, the cat and dog mutually agreed to greet what was left of the morning light.

Rita went to work on the coffee, grinding copious amounts of espresso beans to the point where it seemed asinine to even attempt to sip the concoction. Runt grilled some ham and eggs, while keeping an eye on the grits. He had been very fond of making breakfast on the farm as a puppy, though he'd kept this secret from even her.

"I'm not sure if this is the best or worst coffee I've even had, but it's definitely memorable."

Rita puckered her lips, taking a sip, herself, silently agreeing with the mutt. She had been thinking about the wolves in the parking lot that Minerva had mentioned. She had her suspicions from her past life, but nothing seemed to add up. Had it truly been Amoxi, this was a far more serious situation than simple payback. Amoxi's family owned about half of Chicago's underground and had recently branched into L.A. Though she had never met the wolf personally, she had run-ins with one of his enforcers years back.

"They're gonna taste horrible if they get cold, Rita."

The cat flashed Runt a fake grin and took a bite. Had worry not soured her taste buds, it would have been the perfect meal.

"Too salty?" Runt mused.

"It can never be too salty," she forced herself to put it all out of her mind and enjoy the time they had together. With Minerva on the case, there was even a good chance that he'd beat the charges altogether. The future was never really worth stressing over, as the present was enough and then some.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she said, suddenly. Runt raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, yeah it is, isn't it?"

"Want your present a little early?" Rita maneuvered over to Runt's chair, a sly expression plastered on her face.

He could tell it was forced, but refusing wouldn't make things better, either. Guiding her paws to his hips, the dog stretched out, falling back onto the kitchen rug. As he closed his eyes, his inhibitions levitated away, leaving little more than a burning desire to focus on. After a moment, he realized that it wasn't forced on her part at all. Her eyes spoke volumes and were incapable of deception.

Neither complained when it was over that breakfast had gotten cold. Valentine's Day comes but once a year, after all.

_**February 17th 2000 1400 hours**_

The crème-colored diva sat silently studying a schedule as the sound of children's laughter filled up the background. Her side ached ever so slightly and she couldn't help but wonder if a storm was coming. Her mood didn't improve as a flock of kittens sprinted past her, fleeing from an orangeish tomcat doing his best to cover up his limp. Catching a glimpse of Sawyers face, Danny scooped up the closest orphan he could, played 'airplane' for a moment and let the child run off with his friends.

Sawyer rubbed the stitches on her partner's head. The sutures had recently dissolved, but the scar was visible. Danny gently pulled her paw away smiling warmly.

"Storm's coming," the two of them said together, causing them to giggle a bit.

Handing the schedule to Danny, Sawyer's grin quickly faded.

"Seventeen shows on Broadway in March, are you crazy?"

Danny's smile didn't subside as he put the paper down.

"Tour's over and so is the cash flow. How else are we gonna raise the funds for the paperwork and facilities?"

"But you're dancing on a leg with bullet fragments still in it! Aren't you cutting your career short by doing that?"

"When I get that last slip of official paperwork for our little treasures, I'll gladly hang up my tap shoes." Danny grinned, watching some of the kittens play hide-and-seek.

Sawyer wasn't buying it. "You're never gonna be done with it," she observed, sighing.

Danny frowned, looking at his shoes.

"But I guess I'm in it for as long as you are."

The tomcat looked straight at Sawyer, trying to see if her words were honest.

"What's the point of bleeding, if you're not bleeding for a cause?"

Danny examined Sawyer's body, before she pushed him away.

"What're you doing?" she demanded.

"I wanted to see where you were bleeding."

Sawyer slugged the tomcat in the shoulder, finally allowing a grin to show up on her face.

"You know, we should try and contact Rita this afternoon." Danny thought aloud suddenly, causing the other cat to roll her eyes.

"She hasn't returned any of my voicemails since I started calling. Let her work out whatever she's trying to work out."

"Still…" Danny mused. Scooping up a wayward kitten, Danny rejoined the children once more, leaving Sawyer to her thoughts.

_**March 4th 2000 2300 hours**_

All things considered, Rita had taken the pending trial much better than had been expected. She had insisted on things going by normally, not doing anything out of the ordinary with Runt. Doing so would mean that the trial would be the last they saw of each other. She'd kept up with the defense strategy; regularly meeting with Minerva, but never discussed the situation with Runt directly. Tonight, Runt had been feeling under the weather and stayed home, insisting that Rita do the same. She convinced him that she would be fine on her own, meeting Minerva, revealing her SIG on her ankle. He laughed, commenting about her handgun being manlier than his own.

Even as she walked to the car, she could sense the footsteps behind her. Instead of speeding up, this time, the feline slowed down gradually as the steps behind her quickened. Just before they were right on top of her, Rita spun around to her left, fully prepared to fire.

"It's just me," the voice spoke up.

As she was drawing her weapon, Rita stopped to find her old 'employer' before her.

"I'm strapped." Rita growled, unable to articulate any more words. Greg didn't flinch, but kept his hands up, remaining cautious.

"I needed to talk with you for a moment," he explained. His face was still bruised and he wore an eye patch now. "They're gonna be looking for me soon so I've gotta be quick," he continued, running into the shadow as a car drove by.

Rita fought the urge the pull her weapon, halfway interested in what the other cat had to say.

"They forced me to do it when they found me in the hospital," he explained. Rita had been used to Greg blaming the anonymous _they_ on everything.

"Said if I didn't sue Runt, they'd go after me next."

"You trying to get sympathy?" Rita demanded, reaching for her ankle holster.

"I got triplets now. What'll they do if I'm gone?"

"You're a bastard."

The conversation could have gone downhill from there, but a car spun its tires, causing the tomcat to disappear up the fire escape. Rita cursed herself for leaving the laser site at home.

_**March 13th 2000 1030 hours**_

November of '93. The show with the homeless kittens in it. Runt groaned, inadvertently recalling it. That was the first time he'd ever seen Rita break character, her tough exterior and cry. For all intents and purposes, it was the last time as well. He had sworn to himself that he would never be the reason she shed another tear and was now standing before a judge prepared to break this oath. He tried desperately to fight the urge, but the dog had to turn and glance at Rita. She was looking away for a moment so they failed to lock eyes.

"Mr. Meridian, this is the second time you've been here in my courtroom."

The dog turned his attention back to the head of the courthouse.

"And I understand that, against your attorney's advice you have decided to plead guilty to assault as opposed to not guilty of attempted murder. Is that correct?"

Runt cleared his throat. "Yes, your honor. That's right."

"Then let the records show that I accept your plea." The judge's expression darkened before he continued. "I will not need any time to consider my sentencing, as I am fully aware of your past manipulations of my court proceedings. Your last appeal made a mockery of my court and may I remind you that the state of California still implements the three strike policy. Mr. Meridian, this is indeed your third strike."

Runt glanced nervously at Minerva who wore an equally helpless look on her face.

"Therefore," the judge continued, standing up in rehearsed drama. "I sentence you, Alfonso "Runt" Meridian to a term of 15 years to life in prison. Court is adjourned."

Instantly, even amid the outburst in the courtroom by countless supporters and spectators, the mutt could hear the wale of the gray cat. He likened it to the cry of the banshee for some reason. As the bailiffs took him into custody, the mutt felt as if a strobe light had turned on in his head. All of a sudden, the past few weeks seemed to have been wasted. There were so many more things he wanted to do with her, say to her… It was never really enough time. As he was led away, he felt the taste of copper in his mouth, and saw nothing but the ceiling lights. Glancing down at his knuckle, he determined the cause of being dropped as a tooth was stuck to his fist. He hadn't remembered making the conscious effort to slug anyone.

**-End Part 7-**


	8. Chapter 8

_**March 13th 2000 1600 hours**_

The exorbitant amount of funding for the prison system never made it's way to the décor. The only place Runt had ever seen rust growing on the walls was here. Making an immediate effort to mentally displace himself from the outside world and all it entailed had been the mutt's key strategy for making it out alive in the past. As he made the mental switch up upon entering receiving, he failed to realize that he may be spending the rest of his life behind bars to begin with.

"You're sure you don't want protective custody?"

The mutt looked over his C.O. escort, smirking as he continued hobbling down the dark hallway in his leg irons.

"You a rookie?"

"Five years next month."

"You sound like a rookie."

"You're the first celebrity inmate I've processed." The officer didn't seem to be mocking him.

"Really? In California?"

"Well, first one I'm familiar with."

"You familiar with me?" Runt scoffed. "We ain't friends."

"No, I'm familiar with your work."

"That a fact?"

"Yep. Yep it is. Definitely."

Runt smirked as they came to a door. The C.O. took a deep breath, seemingly more nervous than him.

"Last chance."

The mutt didn't respond, staring ahead. The last thing he wanted was a fan on the other side of the law.

_**March 13th 2000 2215 hours**_

"Alright, let me know if there's anything…anything we can do. … okay? … Okay, bye. I'm sorry again."

Danny stood for a moment, watching Sawyer dangle the receiver on the phone cord. It was a sight difficult for him to bear, but equally complicated to intervene in. A minute passed and the tomcat took a chance, retrieving the phone and hanging it up, silencing the dial tone. Sawyer glanced up at Danny for a moment. Her expression spoke volumes, guilt being the most prevalent emotion on her face.

"How is Rita doing?" he winced, knowing it wasn't a good question and fully expected to get an earful from the diva.

"…It's all our fault, really."

Danny looked at his shoes, unable to respond. He wanted to make things right, but was still nervous about his own interview with the authorities at the hospital. He'd given a lame excuse about a stunt gone wrong for an action scene they were shooting. He could tell from the investigators' eyes that they didn't believe him. But no further action was been taken and they simply left. Now Runt was in prison and Rita, probably a basket case.

"Guess we'll have to start up a fund."

Sawyer looked at Danny, surprised.

"Make it take precedence over everything else and I mean _everything_."

"You mean…?"

"Shh." Danny put his finger on Sawyer's lips, his heart warmed by the glimmer of hope now shining in her eyes.

_**March 13th 2000 2357 hours**_

Lights out came almost two hours ago, but the menacing silence in the canine wing was practically deafening. His eyes had quickly adjusted to the lack of lighting unique to the prisons. Even outside there was at least the glimmer of the moon. Prison was the only place he'd been where it was nearly pitch-black. Indeed, the place was too silent for things to be normal. Usually by now, there was a random lunatic howling, or the sounds of cellies taking advantage of one another, but never nothing. Perhaps things had changed since his last tenure. The new warden must have been a stickler for noise monitoring.

The dog's thoughts turned to the malamute on the top bunk. It had been a less than cordial introduction. Matter of fact, there hadn't been any introductions whatsoever. Runt had decided to sleep with one eye open, disturbed by the other's monk-like silence and lack of eye contact or general activity. Just as he was about to lose his vigilance in favor of sleep, he noticed his cellmate shifting his weight above. Instinctively, Runt put all his paws above him, and not a moment too soon. Seconds later, the malamute rolled off his bunk straight for him, aiming a shiv straight for his heart. Had the mutt not been strategically positioned, he would have been impaled. The dog was heavy, though Runt was no lightweight by any means. Fighting his instincts, Runt knocked his attacker off of him to the floor, initiating the frantic search by the both of them to find the weapon in the dark. After a moment, Runt glanced at the malamute, finding that he'd made the mistake of completely focusing on the search. Capitalizing on the lapse in judgment, Runt slammed his face into the ground twice, knocking his assailant out cold. Finding the shiv on his bedsheets, the mutt put it to the malamute's throat.

_**March 14th 2000 2215 hours**_

A misty haze of cigarette smoke steadily hovered just below eye level, making it the perfect excuse for watery eyes. Not that anyone present had any tears to spare. As the second hand slapped the "12" The barkeep stopped serving drinks to switch the power cords out.

"Bye, Mickey!" a patron called out. Nobody giggled.

"Yo Pete, why don't you get a power strip or somethin'?" another chimed in.

"Don't need one, Marcus," the man smirked. "Don't need one."

When she put down her tray on the table she had been waiting on, nobody said a thing. When she took her gold dangling bracelet off of her wrist and wore it around her neck, it became so quiet, you could hear the cars driving by outside. As she accepted the mic from Pete, she wore the look of a prizefighter just waiting for the bell to ring. Yet just as she hit that first note, the bar songstress levitated into that place few have gone and fewer even know of. Every soul that felt her music knew for a fact that as long as she was lost in song, the worries of the present were snuffed out. For the first time in a long time, she almost was able to smile.

_Feather in the northern wind_

_ Just where you gotta go?_

_You were fine on the gutter, fittin' in_

_ Well, until the breeze would blow_

_**March 15th 2000 0900 hours**_

Runt had never considered himself to be claustrophobic on the outside. Maybe few do. Twenty-four hours in ADSEG will convert even a corpse, though. Shielding his eyes as the rusty, heavy door slowly swung open he recognized the scent of his newfound fan, the C.O.

"Time's up, convict," a cold, unexpected voice barked. "On your feet."

The dog looked past his sympathizer to see a much shorter officer eyeing him as if he were prey. This sobered the dog up quickly.

"C'mon." his 'buddy' spoke up, noticing the frightening glint in Runt's eye. The dog stood as he was told and followed the officers to a conference room.

"He's going to be fine, by the way."

Runt looked at the C.O. focusing on his badge.

"Hickam, is it?" the mutt chose his words carefully. "Good strong Irish name."  
>The C.O. looked over at his co-worker and nodded to the door. With some reservation, the other officer left the two alone, causing Runt to grin.<p>

"Everything in your jacket says you'd have stabbed him with the shiv." Officer Hickam said with a perplexed look on his face. "Why didn't you do it?"

"Disappointed?" Runt queried.

"No, just curious." The C.O.'s words were laced with sincerity.

"You didn't look at my record very well," Runt explained. "I never hurt anyone unless they mess with my girl."

Hickam smiled at this, impressed with what he heard.

"Just the same, do I gotta be his cellie again? He did try and shank me."

"No, we're adding charges to him. But that's not the real problem."

"Come to think of it, why'd he try to kill me?" The dog contemplated this, knowing full well where he was.

"We actually recovered a kite in your cell." Hickam cleared his throat. "Seems that LUF has put a green light on your head."

Runt seemed unfazed by the news. "LUF? What's that? Some kind of prison gang?"

The officer looked at the dog as if he were crazy. "Seriously? You have no knowledge of the Lupine Underworld? Amoxi Garou ring a bell?"

Runt stared blankly at the officer for a moment. "What's the "F" stand for?" he queried.

"…"

"…"

"I strongly suggest that you consider protective custody."

"Hell no. One day in the hole was bad enough. I can't be by myself every day for the rest of my life." Having said those words, Runt had to face the facts of his current predicament. Officer Hickam tried to ignore his quivering lip.

"There's always the feline wing, I suppose," Hickam thought aloud. "They won't let canines mix in with human convicts, but I think we can get clearance for the feline unit."

"Cats?" Runt was taken aback. "You want me to bunk with cats?"

"What's the problem?" Hickam replied. "Your girlfriend's a cat, right?"  
>Runt strained in his cuffs trying to slug the officer in the face. "Take that back," he growled, eliciting further confusion from the officer.<p>

_**March 15th 2000 1730 hours**_

Dillion: Hello again and welcome once again to "Toon Time Tonight"! I'm your host Rod Dillion! Now today we have a very special treat for you. You may know her from her various musical roles on television or more recently the stages of New York. Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a warm "TTT" welcome to the one, the only Rita!

Rita: Much obliged, Rod.

Dillion: Now Rita, your most recent film was released just last month. How does that feel, being your first movie and all?

Rita: Hmm? Oh "Wacko's Wish"? I guess it's a bittersweet deal, ya know?

Dillion: What do you mean?

Rita: It feels good being able to be in a movie, but it'd have been better if they'd released it in theatres, ya know? I mean so close to Christmas, they'd have made some real cash off of it to be sure.

Dillion: Yeah, I'll bet they would have. You think it wasn't on the silver screen because of the serious tone to it?

Rita: You ever see my shorts, Rod?

Dillion: Of course I… oh.

Rita: Yeah.

Dillion: Well, regardless, I've seen it and I think it was great except for one thing.

Rita: What's that?

Dillion: They could've used you and Runt in it more.

Rita: Heh.

Dillion: Oh, speaking of the subject, how are you taking it? I heard you're already back at work.

Rita: I am.

Dillion: So you're coping? My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat when I heard you after the judge sentenced him.

Rita: I wish I were dead.

Dillion: …

Rita: But being dead won't help me get him out of prison, will it?

Dillion: No. No, it won't. So what's the plan?

Rita: Help him with the appeals. Get the ruling overturned. I'll fight all the way up to the Supreme Court if I have to. Talk to anyone and everyone who'll listen.

Dillion: Well just for the benefit of those who have been living under a rock, why don't you break down the situation for us?

Rita: I'd be glad to.

_**March 15th 2000 1751 hours**_

"Galford? Listen up. … You see that shit on channel 34? …Bitch is gonna have the public breathing down the cops' ass to get him out. …Sit-ins, walk-outs, strikes, she's no moron…Yeah, yeah. Okay here's what we do. You still tight with that Torres fellow in San Q? … Yeah, the panther. … They're about to deport him back to Brazil, right? … … Okay, listen. Get him to bunk with the mutt. … I don't care how, just do it. … Understand? Yeah. … Don't screw up or it's your ass. … Alright."

Amoxi hung up the phone and threw it at the TV. As the cogs in his brain rotated faster and faster, the evil in his eyes intensified more and more. In a battle of willpower, striking at the heart is key.

**-End Part 8-**

_That scene in the bar with Rita is Riki's shout out to the amazingly talented Gui Montag and his depiction of Rita singing in a bar on DA. I curse the "no link" policy, i do. **  
><strong>_


	9. Chapter 9

_**March 15th 2000 1900 hours**_

Society has always been partial to the killers under control. There were only two paths to walk for those born with insatiable bloodlust. Runt feigned nonchalance during his forced march, thinking back to how he had walked out of basic training during the third week of boot camp. His father had sworn to him that he'd end up in a place like this because of his temper. He'd always taken exception to following arbitrary orders.

The mutt couldn't help the hair from sticking up on the back of his neck. Not that anyone would notice, but even so… The din from the feline unit was mind numbing; a not so subtle indication that the inmates of the felid persuasion greatly outnumbered those of his own genus. And why wouldn't they? Runt's thoughts detoured to a darker time in his past where he ran with a group that would stalk the streets at night, snatching up cats by the dozens, handing them over to authorities out of sheer spite. He'd only rode along on two such patrols, but he would always feel a lump in his throat whenever he thought of it.

Thinking back to the reason for joining the 'cattle car' as it was called was equally embarrassing. Having been raised in a painstakingly traditional environment on a potato plantation in Idaho, he would always take exception to the fact that no matter how hard he worked to keep the outside safe and secure, the cats on the inside always slacked in their similar duties on the inside. His parents had lived on the farm their whole lives, never going further than the market and had taught him that all felines were lazy and deceptive. He never imagined that he'd find the fatigue and honesty in the eyes of the 'enemy' that fateful night in the city. He had always refused to label her as cat, which he associated with worthlessness. It had been hard-wired into his brain and she enabled him to some extent, never demanding that he call her a cat. Perhaps she agreed with him about her species on some level.

Rounding the last corner, the C.O. tapped a few buttons on a console then inserted the key in a lock. An eerie state of calmness enveloped the dog as the door slowly swung open.

"Oh hell naw!"

"Hey Toto! I'mma make you my fire hydrant!"

The jeering gave Runt a headache, though he fixed his glare straight ahead. He'd taken out 12 of them before with his bare paws, so he wasn't very concerned.

"E-32," the C.O. said. "Fourth deck."

Runt's bravado drained to nothing as he saw the flash of yellow eyes welcome him and fade to black in his cell. Looking at the C.O. his eyes begged for explanation. Large wildcats should have had their own unit.

"Heeeyyyyy!"

Runt looked at the panther, a bit confused, unsure of how to respond. He decided to opt out of answering, throwing his bag on the top bunk, which didn't seem to be occupied. The panther was significantly taller than he, but lean with muscles that could only have been sculpted by one who had nothing else to do with his time. His midnight blue fur had patches missing in the oddest places and a jagged scar going from his shoulder to the top of his neck enhanced his menacing appearance.

"It's tattoo," the panther lied, noting the mutt's focus.

Runt looked over at the officer outside the cell, who hadn't moved, waiting for something to happen.

"How long you gonna stand there, _alemao_?" the panther sneered at the C.O. who walked away slowly. When the two were alone, Runt crouched slightly, tensing up his muscles. This was the very first time he had ever been apprehensive about a physical encounter.

"Relax, _toleirão_," the panther grinned, starting to do inverted push-ups on the bed frame. "I don't want fight you. Goin' back to Sampa tomorrow."

Runt stared blankly.

"São Paulo."

"Oh." Runt finally found his voice and leaned against the sink. His instincts wanted him to remain vigilant, but he was slowly succumbing to a miniscule level of comfort.

"You got any smokes?"

Runt shook his head. He hadn't lit a cigarette in his life. Didn't even know how.

"Damn," the panther stopped exercising and stepped into the mutt's space before Runt could even tell what was happening. "If you lyin', I break your neck." he breathed, nearly inaudibly.

The dog couldn't keep his eyes from dilating and swallowed hard, unsure of himself once again. Suddenly the panther leapt back, a devilish grin on his face.

"Hey, you kinda jumpy, _esse_. Got to relax, 'kay? Call me Alejandro."

_**March 15th 2000 0200 hours**_

_Got no tears left to soil _

_ The fields of despair_

_ Just wonderin' how much and why_

_ You even care_

_ All alone I see the moonbeams shining down_

_ Is this what you need?_

_ Is it what I seek?_

_ I feel the gravity of it all_

She had a poker face that could fool even herself, but catching yawns was a different story altogether. Rita could barely keep her eyes opened as she took off. Pete had insisted on walking her home, but she gave him the slip as he went in the back to get the padlocks. Even if she had taken him up on his offer, if there had been any trouble, he'd have been the one that needed protecting. Pete was a family man, after all.

Three blocks into her trek home, the gray cat felt the sandbags under her eyes gain weight. She wanted nothing more than to catch her bearings, leaning against a building, but with all the patrol cars prowling, she didn't want to be accused of hooking. Fatigue at this time was unnatural for Rita. Her tight schedule with the networks and public appearances these days had been taking their toll once again.

Taking a seat on the curb, the feline stretched slowly, cracking years of worn out bones back into place. As she opened her eyes once again from a yawn that made the sides of her lips hurt, Rita could tell there was something amiss. The crickets had stopped chirping, streetlight went out…something was definitely about to go down. The cat's sharp ears detected screeching tires to the south. She wasn't sure whether it was safe to try and run home, just in case she was being followed, then she'd have no where to go when she lost whoever it may have been. The car closed in faster as she started to sprint across the street, but tripped over a manhole cover. Falling Superman style into the street, the feline closed her eyes, resigned to her fate. She didn't even flinch as the car nearly cascaded off the road, stopping just inches from her arm.

"C'mon!"

The cat looked up to find a concerned looking basenji standing in a dark jeep. Picking herself up as quick as she could, the feline scrambled into the passenger side, hearing the reason for the dog's sense of urgency a block back in the form of a hummer. As Buttons sped off, Rita tried in vain to put on her seatbelt.

"Amoxi's goons," the dog said, making a sharp left at the light.

Rita gave up, grabbing the dashboard to give herself some stability as Buttons changed lanes.

"How'd you know?" she inquired, before biting her tongue as the dog hit the curb, making a right through a stoplight.

"I followed them. Easier to follow them than you. They don't hide."

"I don't h-"

The feline lost her voice and nearly her dinner as Buttons veered around another corner, barely missing a parked Cadillac.

"Shit. Here they come."

Rita turned to find the Hummer slowly gaining ground on them.

"How the fuck is it catching up?" the basenji growled, stepping on the gas. At this point, turning a corner would guarantee they'd be caught, as the Hummer had superior handling. Their only chance was to gun it on the straightaway.

Buttons glanced in his rear view mirror to find the wolves rolling down the passenger side window. He gulped, seeing the passenger emerge with a scope on his rifle. Clenching Rita's quivering paw, Buttons gave her a quick smile.

"Not even Elmer could make that shot."

Neither one heard the gunshot. A mile later, Buttons noticed the fuel gauge dropping at an exponential rate. He had been at barely a quarter tank to begin with. Things weren't going his way at all. If they could only hold out to the bridge…

_**March 15th 2000 0207 hours**_

Sprawled out on his uncomfortable rack, Runt silently groaned, bored to tears. All things considered, he felt a bit foolish, having been afraid to bunk with a feline. Alejandro, aside from his bad sense of humor had been cordial to a fault, providing the mutt with a sense of security, but boredom just the same. He wanted to talk just for the sake of talking, though he was a bit hesitant about the accepted protocol with the feline species.

"Hey, you up?" he whispered, taking a chance.

"Shh!" came a sharp response, confusing the mutt. Moments later, Runt heard the bed springs creak below him and just as he was about to raise his head to investigate, a cloth wrapped around his muzzle, pinning him to the top bunk. Instinctively, he grabbed at the binds trying to get a grip of the cloth only to find a second set of sheets pinning his forearms to his face. He could hear the sheets being tied frantically below him. The bindings were so tight, not even a muffled yelp would escape the gag. Before he could think to move his legs, he felt warm weight on his lower torso. The panther stalked up his body, claws exposed, ripping into his flesh before perching upon his chest, finally making eye contact with him.

"Mmm?"

"My, how you say, 'distributor' called in a favor," Alejandro addressed his captive audience, grinning.

Runt struggled with his legs, causing the panther to apply more pressure to his chest, making it difficult to breathe, much less move.

"Guess you pissed off wrong people on outside, dog." Alejandro protracted his claws on his right paw one by one, enjoying the expressions Runt produced as he did so.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued starting on his left paw. "I'm not assassinate you, 'kay?" he grabbed the mutt's face, squeezing his claws into flesh, stopping just shy of breaking the skin. "Open your eyes, _toleirão_."

Runt complied quickly. His legs felt thousands of icy needles shifting through them as the circulation was slowly cut off in his lower torso. He noticed that the panther's eyes had the exact same look as they did when he was approaching the cell.

"I'd turn him down, but I'm family cat, you know?" Alejandro continued, his tone darkening. "It's why I come here in the first place, you know? Looking _for meu irmão_." Alejandro wrinkled his forehead. "Brother? Yeah. Brother. But you know what? I can't find him. Three years, I'm looking. But you know what I find?"

Runt flinched as the panther balled up his fist.

"His kid live around this place, you know? And you meet him one time, I hear." Alejandro chuckled softly for a second.

Runt's mind was racing as he started to notice features on the panther that seemed vaguely familiar to him.

"So maybe I just give you what you gave him that time, 'kay?"

Before Runt's thoughts could complete, the panther slugged him in the face, just above his right cheekbone. There was a sudden hot pain following a squishy sound, followed up by a hot pulsating throbbing. The mutt could feel the bruising around his eye coming, though he didn't have to ask what he'd done to deserve it.

"Hurts like a bitch, don't it?" Alejandro taunted, cracking his knuckles. "That felt pretty good. Maybe we'll see if they get they wish when I done, 'kay?"

_**March 15th 2000 0220 hours**_

"Are we out of gas already?"

Rita looked around wildly for the pursuing vehicle that had gradually slowed down during the chase until they couldn't see it any more. She understood that the wolves were toying with them. There was nowhere to go except the woods on foot and they had at least one gun on them. Rita had left her SIG back at the apartment. She joined Buttons on the hood as he tinkered with a device.

"About 400 meters to the east is my bike and some cash." He didn't look up.

"One thing she always taught me was to be prepared for the unexpected."

"Let's go, then!" she called starting towards the forest.

"You go ahead, I'll catch up." He accentuated his point, slapping a mag in the chamber of an old rifle. It was a bolt action, used simply for marksmanship practice. He only had about seven rounds in it and knew it wasn't going to stop a pack from catching them. On the other hand, sniping them from a stationary position would make it much easier for Rita to successfully evade the wolves.

"I'll catch up! Go on!" Buttons growled, hearing the Hummer approach. The vehicle parked about twenty meters away. Buttons stared down the sights, waiting for the pack to file out. As soon as the door opened, Buttons heard three shots, taking a moment to realize that he was the one who had done the shooting. Aiming at the closest target, he capped a wolf in the kneecap. When he heard the click, he realized he was out of ammunition and went back to the hood of his jeep, glancing to see Rita had made it to the woods. Setting the timer to 15 seconds, Buttons started to sprint towards the woods himself. He made it two steps before falling over, as a sharp, hot pain pelted his shin. He tried crawling but didn't make it far as another shot hit his right leg. Buttons knew he didn't have much time to escape and tried to crawl to no avail. Turning over to meet his maker, he squinted to see a digital "2" on the device.

He couldn't help but smile as the others encroached on his territory.

_**March 15th 2000 0315 hours**_

"You're late."

Danny yawned loudly, taking a seat across from his latest consultant. The diner they had chosen looked to have been constructed some time near the Industrial Revolution. Some of the waitresses seemed to have been alive during that time as well.

"I'll have a short stack with a double shot of grape juice and eggs over easy if you please," Danny called to a passing waitress.

"Sure, hon."

Minerva grimaced, slugging the cat on the shoulder.

"This isn't the time to be eating!" she hissed, causing the feline to smile.

"Don't worry, I can multitask," Danny responded, leaning against the booth. "Besides I haven't eaten today yet!"

"It's only been today for three hours."

"Precisely. Three hours without food is torture."

The mink looked less than amused as per usual. "Now get to the point."

Danny's mood hardened as soon as the two were out of ear's shot of any other patrons. "Tell me what you can about Amoxi," he demanded, checking around to see any reactions from the others.

"Ask your girlfriend. He runs one of the racketeering groups that perpetuates and recycles most of the mammal trafficking in North America. He likes his marks, former and current to be anything but vocal."

Minerva stopped explaining as the waitress topped off her coffee and gave Danny his meal. She stirred some sugar into the cup, long after it dissolved.

"About the other thing…"

"Forget it. Money can't buy the justice system and too many eyes are on this one. I'm afraid you're just going to have to trust the appeals process like last time.

"Last time was a fluke. It won't happen again, Minerva."

The mink frowned, taking a look at Danny for a moment. The cat could tell that she was contemplating something. A moment passed before she took out a business card and scribbled a number on the back. Pushing it across the table, the mink turned away.

"You get caught using that, don't even think of mentioning my name or I'll report your little secrets before they even find me."

_**-End Part 9-**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**March 15th 2000 0500 hours**_

The air was dank and thick with the wafting odor that an overused, under-maintained rest area might have. The burlap sack covering his head made his face itch something awful. Though his vision was obstructed, he could tell he was underground somewhere. For some reason, his ears always felt strange, heavier whenever he was underground. There was a strong scent of feline in the area, though he couldn't detect _her_, which was a comfort. Of course if they had her, they'd have probably executed him on the spot rather than indulge in these elaborate theatrics. Buttons groaned softly, longing to scratch his nose, knowing this was impossible, as the crude ropes chafed his arms. He silently cursed himself for screwing up the wiring on his car. He'd gotten the red and green wires mixed up once again. No boom. No fuckin' boom.

"Proud of yourself?"

The basenji's ears perked. He knew he hadn't been alone the entire time, but until now, the other party had remained silent. He cringed as the sack was unceremoniously ripped off his head. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the low lighting. Eventually, the globs in the distance morphed into large cages housing miserable looking creatures. The ones with fire still in their eyes seemed to be worse for wear. His focus finally landed on the source of his immediate danger grinning proudly at him across the table he was bound to. Buttons immediately recognized Amoxi, though they'd never met face-to-face before. The wolf's reputation more than preceded him.

"Aren't you going to thank me for sparing your life?" the lupine mused, licking his chops.

"Eat a dick!" Buttons snarled, surprising himself with his own reaction. A second later a sharp pain followed by a hot throbbing sent the dog into the confides of his mind, trying in vain to will away the pain as the wolf's boot connected with his groin. As he tried to ignore the flickering flashes of white in his sights, he caught a glimpse of his captor standing tall above him, reveling in his anguish.

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to _bite _it."

The subdued canine ignored Amoxi's taunt as he panted, still trying to steady his nerves. It was then that he noticed the set of hedge trimmers on the table next to the wolf.

Amoxi followed the dog's stare to his newest source of nervousness and grinned to himself, patting the tool gently as if it were a newborn. Lifting it carefully, he cut the air just in front of Buttons, taking care to let the low light hit the blade on the right angle, as to quell any doubts of its sharpness to the dog. The rusty squeak send chills up his own spine, so he could only speculate what they meant to the basenji.

"I'm a reasonable kind of guy," the wolf began, pulling the blades apart slowly. "So I'll leave the choice up to you. Sack, tail or first toe?"

Buttons strained against his bindings, tearing flesh. He wasn't 100% sure what the wolf was getting at, but was in no mood for games.

"If you don't choose soon, I'll cut them all off right here and now, so give me a choice and save the other two." Amoxi sounded like a used car salesman having a sucker choose among dilapidated, decrepit and frail.

"Of course, we could easily avoid any further unpleasantries if you just told us the location of a certain gray cat is."

Buttons tried his best not to show his relief on his face, turning away to look at the floor. There was a crimson puddle not far from him and he tried his best to keep his imagination from guessing the source.

"If anything you should be upset with our fellows in the laboratory. Janitors accidentally smashed our entire supply of sodium amytal. Make a decision."

_**March 15th 2000 0700 hours**_

"Jes- You! Up against the wall! Right now!"

Had Officer Hickam thought his actions through, he might not have brought such attention to the cell, further alienating the sole canine inmate.

"I don't killed him. What's problem ossifer?"

"Shut it Torres!" The C.O. snarled, cuffing the panther. He pulled the feline aside into the custody of another guard before entering the cell.

"Back up." Runt's pride was still as tough as ever. His eye was a mix of blues grays and purples and had swollen up tightly, to where it must have been impossible to see. The left side of his face was no better and from his vantage point, Hickam could see claw marks all across the mutt's arms. The C.O. glanced over his shoulder at the panther. Not a single scratch.

"I pissed him off and he hit me a couple of times. That's it." Runt spoke up, cringing. His lower lip was blown up like a balloon and it hurt to stretch his facial muscles.

"Hang tight."

"I can refuse medical treatment, right?"

Hickam looked at the mutt as if he were insane. "Yes, but,"

"Then I'm doing it. Now get out of here before they think we're buddies or something." The mutt rolled over facing the wall.

Hickam scratched his head, wanting to speak up, but finding no appropriate words. Runt was right, showing weakness would get him branded and killed over here. Turning outside the cell, he took his frustration out on the offending inmate, slamming the panther into the railing. As his shift was ending, he worried what shape the mutt would be in when he returned 24 hours later.

_**March 15th 2000 0740 hours**_

Stretching in her seat, Rita yawned trying desperately to avoid dozing off, while keeping a keen eye on her surroundings. She'd taken the extra caution of riding the motorcycle to San Francisco as opposed to using LAX. Other than her lack of height making it feel awkward, Rita might have enjoyed riding Button's bike in different circumstances. The humane side of her was concerned for his safety. The average person might see her outwardly as aloof, though the feline was far from this. It was simply that worrying occupies the mind, dulling the senses, making it easier to become prey. For her, it was entirely possible to be both detached and distraught at the same time while only the keenest investigator could guess what was inside her heart and still not get it entirely correct. The present required vigilance and nothing more.

"Ladies and gentlemen at this time, we ask all Sky Team Elite members and first class passengers to board at this time. Once again, Sky Team Elite members and first class only. We'll be calling zones one and two shortly. Thank you."

The gray cat rolled her eyes, glancing at her ticket. How did they divvy up the zones, anyway? She'd used a track phone to text Sawyer of her intentions. Well, mostly, anyways. "JFK, 5pm Meet. R" It was as if the telegraph had gone back in style. The feline had formulated the makings of a plan in her head, though. As she waited in line when her zone was called, the cat surveyed the other passengers on the flight, trying to see if she recognized anyone. There were limited spaces to hide on an Airbus despite what films often depicted.

"Ms. Rita?" The clerk addressed her as she handed her ticket for inspection.

"Something wrong?" Rita eyed the woman suspiciously.

"Quite the contrary. You've been upgraded to first class. Seems we double booked your seat and the other man who had your seat is with a party of three with a young child."

"Lucky me."

"Yes, indeed!"

Rita sighed. The ticket checker should've been a stewardess, as she was oblivious to a sarcastic tone. She reviled first class. It was full of overachieving self-conscious basket cases for the most part… the ones she knew so little about.

Taking her seat on the leather recliner she was designated, her scorn melted with the gentle sagging of the cushion.

"First time in first class, eh?"

Rita straightened up, a bit embarrassed by the very sentiment. Her neighbor smiled, seemingly taking no offense to her silent treatment.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. Seeing you melt in that chair just kinda reminded me of my first time. Wasn't too long ago, either, come to think of it."

"So what do you do?" She thought it would be odd to let the man go on and on without limited reciprocation. Besides, by the looks of him, he wasn't the type with a silver spoon up his ass.

"I'm in security."

"Oh." The cat rolled her eyes.

"No, not securities. Security. Like a bodyguard? Name's Kai."

"Oh." She was fully aware that she was expected to return the favor, but something didn't sit right with her for some reason. The cat looked over her shoulder wondering if anyone was looking in her direction. Her eyes returned to Kai when she heard him laugh heartily.

"You look like one of my clients from L.A. You in some kind of trouble, miss?"

Rita looked the man directly in the eye, leaning in a bit, causing him to giggle nervously, looking around quickly. After a moment she let up, and sat back in her chair.

"What was that-"

"This isn't non-stop, is it?" Rita called out to a passing flight attendant.

"That's right. There's a layover in Minneapolis, but you don't have to get off the plane." she responded.

Rita sucked in a deep breath and let it out through her nostrils.

"Alright," she breathed, turning to face Kai once again. "If I tell you my name, will you wake me up when the plane lands in Minneapolis?"

"I'd tell you either way, but are you really gonna waste your first time up here sleeping?"

The feline smiled, her fangs glistening in the light. "Name's Rita. Thanks."

_**March 15th 2000 1000 hours**_

Fourteen bars in the front. Nine going along each side. Of course, fourteen in the back. He was tall, so sitting was a distinct impossibility, making his recent injury all the more uncomfortable. The basenji tried willing his eyes away from the missing toe on his foot paw. He stared at it with morbid curiosity. He could still feel the toe in his mind and it hurt something awful. Would the feeling go away after the initial pain died? Did he want it to? Forget it like it was never there to begin with? Why did he feel guilty about choosing it? It was the only sane choice, considering his other options. He wanted nothing more than to bite off his tongue and get it all over with quickly, but even this release was something they had denied him. The muzzle had been tightened to where it felt as if the circulation had been cut off in his face. Nearly four hours had passed and he still hadn't gotten used to it.

Five minutes after severing his toe, Amoxi got a phone call that caused him to smile triumphantly directly at him, though he afforded the basenji no explanation, simply waltzing out of the room with a cheerful hum on his lips. He distinctly remembered hearing Amoxi order his replacement to torture him in his absence. Fortunately for the dog, Amoxi's subordinate seemed less than enthusiastic about his work and with the boss away, was practically lethargic, throwing him in a cage while he went out for a smoke. According to the clock on the wall, his smoke break had lasted almost three hours now.

Buttons didn't feel like talking even if he could. He was surrounded by what seemed to be stray alley cats, all who were silent as the dead. From his vantage point, they all had odd-looking wounds patched up in the strangest ways that suggested rather than being tortured, they could have been test subjects of some kind. The green cat to his right had only one eye that spun around like a chameleon. He was chained to the top grating on the cage for some cruel reason and looked dehydrated. The basenji's eyes came upon the water dish in his cage. The water seemed a bit dirty, but it was better than nothing. Picking the dish up, he flicked a few drops at the cat to get his attention. Suddenly, his eye stopped moving and focused directly on Buttons. He pointed to the dish and then back to him, shrugging his shoulders. The cat's expression perked up slightly and he nodded his head, dry tongue dangling as far down as possible. Buttons scooped some water towards the cat, hitting him right on target. The feline gulped the water quickly and half-smiled.

"You don't wanna waste any more of that on me." The cat's voice was weak and scratchy. He had a faint wheeze, making him speak slowly. "Since they only refill the water every two days or so."

"Whe- hiz dis pwase?" Buttons asked through his muzzle.

"Hell on Earth." The green cat was used to muzzled speech, as if he were a dentist. "One of the places Amoxi puts his little troublemakers."

"Wheyey ya yoo heer?"

"Because I'm no longer profitable in the pits. No one bets against me, so I don't make him anymore money."

"Piff pyier?"

"Yeah. Underground joints and strip club basements, mostly. Lost my license when I killed a guy in Tampa. I didn't have any other choice 'cause that was the only thing I knew how to do."

"Wheyey yo pause hun?"

"'Cause this claw here can tear through diamonds." The cat's ear twitched. "Heads up."

Buttons heard the footsteps and turned away.

"Said something about 'grass hatin' or 'gas station'?" a voice spoke, getting louder with every step.

"Castration!" Another voice exclaimed as the two wolves converged on Buttons' cage. They grinned as the dog's ears drooped. He instinctively backed to the edge of the cage as the two wolves sneered at him. It wasn't long before the basenji recognized one of the wolves. Galford! The red wolf pulled a piece of his holster aiming it at the dog's midsection while the other opened the cage. Pulling Buttons onto an examination table, the wolves strapped him down, making sure he was unable to see what they were doing. Without warning, the basenji found himself nose to nose with Galford.

"Tell me where she is, or I'mma squeeze off the left one. Then maybe I'll stomp out the right one." The red wolf whispered slugging Buttons on the temple. The green cat grimaced in his cage.

"I'll take this off for ten seconds. That's all the time you get to talk, pup. Make it count."

Buttons looked up, realizing he could see the cat. As they made eye contact, he noticed that the other wolf was standing very close to the cat's cage, back turned to its occupant. The cat noticed this as well. As Galford tugged the muzzle off, he lost his balance for a split second. If ever an opportunity was taken advantage of…

The cat swung forward, causing the wolf to jerk backwards, allowing the cage to tip over on him, pinning him to the ground. Buttons caught a poker from the table as Galford fell, and thrust it forward with all his might. He paid little attention to the spastic whimpering as he turned his attention to the toppled cage. Using the bolt cutters, he freed the green cat in time for the feline to sink his claws into the downed wolf, more than proving his earlier boast.

"What are you doing?" The cat demanded as Buttons fumbled with the keys. "They can't come."

Buttons looked around, realizing that the cat was right. Aside from him, most of the others were in such bad shape that moving them would be counterproductive.

"The pact." Buttons heard one of the prisoners say. "The pact. The pact." It echoed throughout the room as the others all stared at he and the green one. Buttons looked at his new comrade for an answer.

"The pact," the green cat explained, spitting on Galford for good measure, "Is the promise we made. Whoever escapes burns the place."

The color in the basenji's face faded.

"End the suffering. We can't send authorities here. Amoxi's paw reaches too far."

Buttons groaned, taking a seat on the floor. The cat helped himself to Galford's Glock. "Let's get going before they check in."

The dog looked around, speechless.

"I'm Jacob. That's Amos, Chak, Zhizhi, Ralph, Morty and Sean."

"Buttons."

"We're running out of time. Take nothing but left turns 'till you get to the street. You should recognize the neighborhood. I'll catch up."

The part of Buttons that said to take Jacob with him was in direct conflict with the part of him that said to respect his wishes. As he wrestled with his indecision, he could almost hear a familiar voice beckoning him outside. Why now? Why was she on his mind? Hobbling to the door, the voice grew louder in his head. Before he knew it, he was limping out the door. No goodbyes, no "c'mon", nothing. The only thing that really mattered was getting Mindy's voice out of his head. Wiping away the tears, Buttons noticed that he was already across the street and the voice had stopped. He took a step back towards the building when the ground beneath him began to rumble. As the windows shattered, the basenji realized that Jacob had no intention of leaving that nightmare alive. Some wounds cut so deep that the very thought of forgetting them calls for blood as the only cure.

_**March 15th 2000 1645 hours**_

"Heh heh heh, that's rich. So who are you waiting to pick up, if I may be so bold?"

"Oh, you know, just an old friend. Actually she's more of an acquaintance than a friend. We lost touch years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But you're in contact now, so that's good."

"Yeah, definitely. Although I think she feels awkward around my husband. I mean, they're both such wonderful singers and are very passionate about what they do for a living, so…"

"But aren't you that same way? It shouldn't be awkward."

"I don't know…sometimes it's like I feel guilty about having the life I do when I'm around her, and sometimes it seems like she feels a bit jealous at the same time."

"So who arranged this meeting, then?"

"You know what? It was her. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Well, definitely not, saying as how you're a cat."

"No, heh heh, you know what I mean."

"I know, I know. But think about this… you're already suspicious of her motives and she hasn't even gotten off the plane yet. Won't that sour the tea before you even boil the water?"

"You know, I never thought about it like that. But now, she has reason to be mad at us. If it wasn't for us, her boyfriend wouldn't be incarcerated right now."

"Oh, did you threaten him to break the law or you'd cave her skull in or something?"

"Geez us, no. Nothing like that."

"So how is it your fault Runt's in jail?"

"Well, it's complicated."

"I'll bet it is. Most people say that when they don't have a good reason."

"…"

"I rest my case."

"Wait a minute. How did you…?"

"You told me his name, earlier, remember?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"…"

"Weather's certainly cold here in New York this time of year."

"…no."

"Huh? You New Yorkers really have acclimated to the climate then. I'm from Chicago and this is still cold for me."

"No, I never said his name. Who are you?"

"Uri Geller ring a bell? Danielle Egnew?"

"You're a psychic?"

"Very good. And as such, I can tell you that I've made special preparations for your little friend, so when she comes to greet you, Sawyer, you're to not mention that you met a wolf today, or there might be a terrible accident very soon. Understood?"

"!"

"No, the last thing we want to see is you looking flustered. I'm kind of on a time constraint here, so I'll leave you and your family in relative peace if you simply cooperate."

"Don't hurt my-"

"Then we have a deal, do we?"

"You bastard."

"Sticks and stones, my dear. She should be coming out any time now. Ta ta!"

Sawyer turned to find the huge wolf had already disappeared among the sea of travelers going back and forth. As she awaited the arrival of her old friend, she slowly got a hold of her nerves. Why had the wolf even introduced himself without giving more instructions? Where had he gone? Was Danny safe? What of the children? She could feel the perspiration forming on her brow. Shaking her head, she was determined to remain steadfast, so as not to arouse suspicion. She'd come up with plan B as it came along.

Thirty minutes later, she knew something was wrong. Had the wolf grabbed her past the security check? What was taking so long? Walking up to a Delta representative, she inquired about Rita's whereabouts.

"McCoy, Rita, eh? Yes, she definitely left SFO, but I guess she changed her tickets at Minneapolis, because her ticket shows a cancellation at that airport. I'm not sure where she ended up. Maybe she stayed in Minnesota. We have no more records for her flying with Delta at this time."

"Are you ssserious?"

Sawyer froze, hearing the wolf's voice right behind her. She expected him to kill her right then and there. As fast as his temper hit it's boiling point, it mellowed out again.

"I am showing some weather advisories coming from St. Paul International."

"But the plane was on time, right?" the wolf's voice was calm again, chilling Sawyer to the bone as he talked literally over her to the clerk.

"Right, silly me."

"No problem at all. You've been a great help. Let's go, sweetheart."

Sawyer's eyes darted around for a security guard, but could only find janitors and more Delta reps. Causing a scene would only aggravate the situation and she needed to hear what he planned on doing next.

"Hun?"

"C-c-coming!" Sawyer spoke in a mock contented tone as she caught up with the wolf.

The two walked in a hurried pace, matching the majority of the others, so no attention was drawn to them. As soon as they found themselves in a quiet section, the huge wolf turned, kneeling down to face Sawyer. She was afraid he was going to bite her cheek and winced.

"First and last chance to tell the truth," he growled. "Did you know she wasn't going to make it?"  
>Sawyer shook her head. She opened her mouth to say 'no' but the words never came.<p>

"Because if I find out you're lying to me, then I'm coming back to New York personally and I'll have to give you the treatment. And trust me, you do NOT want the treatment. Understand me?" He was speaking so quickly that it took a moment for Sawyer to register what he had said. When she did, he was already out of sight. Sawyer dropped to her knees fighting back the tears.

_**March 15th 2000 1800 hours**_

"Hey Rita! Over here!"

"Hiya fellas. Long time, no see."

"Not that long, Rita. How you holding up?"

"Hey Rita. It's great you came to see us. We've got just the thing for your troubles."

"Well, let's get out of the parking lot first. Man, Bobby. Does it ever get cold in Orlando?"

"Not to my recollection. Of course Pesto's from here and he's said it was cold when he was just a chick."

_**-End Part 10-**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**March 15th 2000 1600 hours **_(Pacific)

Yard time. Recess for some, ground zero for others. The entire way to the commons area, Runt fully expected to be taken out. Anticipation of attack was a weapon frequently utilized by the incarcerated. Runt knew this; even did this in the past. Subsequently, the mutt made no attempt to hide his apprehension so as to send the message to those in the open that he was suffering from the wait, when in actuality, he was mostly just playing the game. Mostly. One noticeable difference between the felines and his kind was the level of activity in the yard. He could tell things hadn't changed simply because of his presence. Most of the cats acted as if he were invisible. In the canine ward, different groups and gangs would be busy doing different activities, often challenging rivals to team sports or something. Over here, everyone was quiet, just sitting amongst themselves, whispering in their huddles making very little noise. The few stragglers and loners stood around, some pacing, some leaning, others sitting. Runt stayed close to the front of the yard, as far away from the others as possible.

There was a group of nasty looking alley cats a few meters from him. They must have been speaking a foreign language… maybe even a made up prison language because Runt hadn't heard anything like it before. The one in the middle had a jagged scar going from his scalp to his chest and had patches of fur missing. He looked like one of those P.O.W.s the mutt had seen in a documentary.

"What happened to your face?"

It sounded more like a statement than a question. The dog turned his head to find a mountain lion a few meters away. The acknowledgement was unsettling to say the least.

"Cut myself shaving."

The cougar took a step closer to Runt, challenging the mutt's personal space. The dog smirked at this. Some things are predictable cross cultures.

"You some kinda comedian? Got that little smile and shit."

"Something I can do for you, bud?" Runt hadn't retaliated against Alejandro on principle. He owed no such favor to this one.

"Yep," The mountain lion closed in, showing his teeth as he grinned wide. "Kiss my shoes."

Runt could feel a number of eyes on them as he felt his blood boiling. He knew they were quickly approaching the point of no return. A quick glance told him that C.O.s were out of the immediate vicinity and experience told him that even on the yard, they were never quick to stop altercations.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he grumbled, balling up his fist.

"They gonna give me $40 commissary," the cougar whispered. "But between us, I'd do it for free."

The mutt took a swing an inch too wide, allowing the mountain lion to catch his elbow, twisting it the wrong way until he heard a snap. Throwing his own hands up, the cougar allowed the guards to cuff him with no resistance, having accomplished his goal.

Runt lay on the ground writhing in pain, choking back the tears as the cats hooted and cheered. Had he not been focused on the sharp pain in his joint, he'd have noticed that much of the cheering was forced.

_**March 15th 2000 2030 hours**_ (Eastern Standard)

"Don't feel guilty about it. Ya gotta eat. What difference does it make if it's fish or a five course meal?"

Rita sighed, staring into her glass of red wine. It felt awkward being a patron in a place like this with the dimmed lights, tux-adorned wait staff and novella-thick menus. The feline caught herself glancing at her watch a number of times wondering what time she was to perform on stage.

"Are we boring you?"  
>The cat looked up at Pesto, forcing a grin. "Sorry, force of habit I guess. Is it alright if I get the veal?"<p>

"Of course," Bobby spoke up. "Getting back to business, we've already taken care of half of the situation. Your little friend in New York paid us in advance."

"That's right," Squit piped. "He's a real piece of work, too."

"The problem is," Pesto added. "To get him to be where he has to be, we've got to be a little, err… unconventional."

"Hey, whatever works. Spare me the details." The feline insisted.

"Suit yourself. Oh! It's that Delany chick from Lauderdale. Excuse me a moment. C'mon Squit."

Bobby and Rita watched as Pesto tried in vain to woo a seagull, taking his frustrations out on his wingman in the process. Though there was generally animosity between their species, Rita had never really given the Goodfeathers a predatory look. In fact, she likened Bobby to how her older brothers might have acted had she known them as a kitten.

"So what's this about you not tying the knot yet? Are you serious? What were youse guys waiting for?"

Rita blushed, caught off-guard by the question. "If this works then we could never legally be married since he'll be on the lam for the rest of his life."

"All the more reason for you to have done it earlier. I tell ya, I don't get what you kids were waiting for."

"Don't need any papers to say what we are to each other." The feline explained. "To be true to just one without making it official, you know, it means more. Like you don't **have **to but you _want_ to."

"Oh, so what we heard about the state rejecting your marriage license because he's a dog was wrong?"

The cat eyed the pigeon for a moment, saying nothing.

"They'll change that law soon enough, don't worry."

"There's something else." Rita said suddenly, changing subjects, her tone laced with worry.

"Oh, _him_? I wouldn't worry too much about him in our turf."

_**March 15th 2000 2000 hours**_ (Central)

"Gregory, have a seat."

The thin cat knew right off the bat that something was amiss. In his tenure under the timber wolf's empire, he had always been expected to stand in the presence of Amoxi and his immediate subordinates. Greg was almost insignificant in the organization; like a squad leader meeting the commandant. His nightclubs had since been redistributed when the wolf learned that he'd granted his star attraction her physical freedom after she'd made the roll on the television serial. Of course this came at a huge price, with the majority of her earnings confiscated as dues to the organization, which Amoxi had accepted, but now that the steady work on television had dried up and the income was no longer coming in, Amoxi had demanded Rita be reacquainted with her previous occupation. From a moral standpoint, Greg had been opposed to this from the start. On the business side of the spectrum, however, he understood how far Amoxi's paw stretched. If it wasn't him, it'd have been somebody else. There was always somebody else.

"Galford's been compromised."

Greg swallowed hard. Amoxi's general compassion was comparable to that of a piranha, but for the twenty years he knew the wolf, Galford had been the only one he'd shown any consideration for.

"You were in Burbank at the time, yes?"

Greg nodded his head, afraid to speak.

"So how goeth the project?" Amoxi had the tendency to switch subjects as he allowed his rage to build up, switching back only to catch his marks off-guard. Keeping this in mind, Greg indulged in the wolf's game.

"He'll be dead by sunup. I guarantee it."

"Acceptable."

Greg stood up to leave, taking this as his cue. Two steps from the door, he heard the wolf's voice once more, stopping him in his tracks.

"You have 48 hours to find her."

As soon as the cat was out of the room, Amoxi turned his attention to the swivel chair in the shadows. He despised his guest's theatrics, but gave no indication of this as the chair rotated slowly to reveal the man. Thick glasses and a wiry frame gave him a less than imposing look, but to be in the presence of the wolf with such a condescending smirk on his face suggested that his connections were rooted deeper than the lupine's indeed.

"I want to ask you a question, but I'm afraid you'll take it the wrong way." The man's voice was every bit as nasally as his appearance had alluded to. Amoxi raised an eyebrow, mentally prepping himself to swallow a typical specist observation.

"What's on your mind?" he halfheartedly encouraged, leaving just enough contempt in his tone for the man to miss discerning.

"Your cousins spend so much time chasing their tails. What happens when they catch them?"

"I wouldn't know. You'd have to ask a Labrador."

"I only ask because you're spending a whole lot of effort in sniffing out your little lost pet. Can you really afford to lose focus like this?"

"Mr. Sephia, the only reason you're sitting in your position and I'm in mine is because of your ability to spot and manipulate talent. Agreed?"

"Quite right, indeed."

"So if I were to tell you to trust me, to do what you appointed me to do, essentially I'd be asking you to trust yourself."

"In a manner of speaking."

"Nobody knows just how much information she is privy to and her going public cannot possibly be helpful in keeping the operation under the radar. "

"I have no doubt about that, Amoxi. No doubt whatsoever."  
>"Then we're in agreement?"<p>

"My concern is that your pursuit will be just as noisy as her appearing on 60 Minutes."

_**March 15th 2000 2100 hours**_ (Pacific)

Prisons are frightening. Hospitals are frightening. Prison hospitals? Not so much. Maybe because more often than not, a trip to sickbay was a one-way ticket out of incarceration. Well, that and life itself, but beggars can't be choosers. As the mutt laid listless on his bed, an odd expression was plastered to his face. To his right was a big cat, a tiger with a cast on his leg and an eye patch. To his left, a Doberman, doped up on a cocktail of drugs. Runt could feel the eye of the tiger on him. The tiger had been silently watching him since he arrived. As the orderly turned out the main lights and locked up for the night, Runt sat up suddenly, turning to face the feline.

The tiger cracked his knuckles slowly, stretching to the point where his joints seemed to pop out of their sockets and scratched his cast.

"Itches like a bitch," the tiger admitted, wiggling his bandaged limb. He had a thick East Asian accent and what could only be described as a wild eye. The mutt had to look away, subconsciously dreading the look he received from the larger species.

"You too?" he nodded at Runt's own cast. The mutt shrugged, rolling on his side away from the tiger.

Runt grimaced as he heard the tiger break into a fit of laughter. The other patients seemed oblivious or too drugged up to notice.

"Not sure you thought that choice through. Turning your back on a tiger and all."

Growling, the dog turned over ready for a fight. He found the level of calmness in the cat's face to be insulting.

"So hot-headed. Full of rage and passion and nothing to show for it, eh?"

The tiger sat up in his bed as best as his predicament would allow. "Can you even speak English?"

Runt didn't move, eye narrowing, causing the tiger to sigh.

"_Nī__ṅ__ka__ḷ__ Tami__ḻ__ pēca mu__ṭ__iyumā?_"

The dog raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"_U__ṉ__akku e__ṉṉ__a paittiyamā_?" The tiger grinned wide, causing the dog to drop his guard and turn away, trying to hide a smile.

"What language you speaking?" Runt inquired before he could stop himself.

The tiger's smile spread, giving him an almost sinister Cheshire Cat look. "Tamil. Although I actually come from Bangledesh, Not Sri Lanka."

"What does that matter?"

"They don't generally speak Tamil in Bangladesh. Just Bengali."

"So why do you speak it?"

"Learned it in the circus. My parents, they sold me to the circus before I came of age. So I adopted the language of my trainers."  
>"So it's like your slave language."<p>

The tiger's eye glistened revealing a wealth of fury and hurt which disappeared in a blink, replaced with indifference.

"Don't sweat it. English is my slave language." Runt spoke again, somewhat regretting his words. "I'm second generation Black Irish. I should know Gaelic, but my dad never taught me."

"You never tried to learn."

Runt smiled sadly, looking at his feet.

"I'm Uttam."

"Runt. Pleasure."

"Why 'Runt'? It's not a very flattering title."

"Well what the hell does your name mean?"

The tiger chuckled more a moment. "Best."

"Best?"

"Best."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" The mutt halfheartedly challenged.

Uttam smiled, stretching a second time. "I've had the eye patch since I was in the circus. I broke my leg playing soccer. Botched bicycle kick."

"I meant prison. How does the best get sent to prison?"  
>"That is a long story." the feline grinned.<p>

Runt tried to get comfortable with his arm in the sling. "Beats the hell out of listening to these machines."

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Like that matters."

"…"

Runt found it odd that he was speaking so freely with the larger predator. Now that things had quieted down, he was beginning to feel a bit less confident.

Uttam finally caved. "You know, in the circus, the most important thing… the lifeblood is illusion."

"It's like that in TV, too."

"I guess so."

"So go on."

"After so many years of doing the same thing, your heart starts to wander off. Wants you to do other things with your life. You know?"

"Yeah. That's why I left the farm."

"Farm? Hmm. Well, I told this to the ringmaster. He said I could go after we finished our last tour in Las Vegas."

Runt sighed. "He lied after the last performance?"  
>"No, he begged me to go along on one last stand in San Francisco. I agreed."<p>

"So?"

"So I got to thinking how many times he had manipulated me into staying longer and longer and longer. Then I got to thinking that the choice to leave was an illusion as well and there was only one way out."

"So now you're here," the dog observed, wondering at the fact that the tiger couldn't articulate his crime in specifics.

"To spite me, the judge gave me life. I begged for the death sentence since suicide is forbidden in my faith."

"Huh."

"You know I have spoken with maybe two canines in my life, you being the second. In the circus, you stuck with your own kind. You know?"

"Yeah."

_**March 15th 2000 1930 hours**_ (Eastern)

"Sawyer, don't worry about it. I'm cancelling the rest of this month's performances and that's it. We can't risk it."

It was times like this when Danny felt like he was drowning. His ambition had forever been his lifeblood, but he could see that dreaming big meant falling even harder when the storm came. Back in his old town, he had nothing, so his gambles always made him richer. Now that so many lives relied on his success and health, he felt the pressure every minute he was off of the stage.

"You still need to make money. You can't just cancel a show because of some terrorist."

"I wish we could go to the cops. Too bad we're gonna be-"

Sawyer placed her finger on Danny's lips, shushing him instantly.

"Not an option. Not an option."

The two cats sat on the sofa surveying their domain. The safest place to be was here in the manor. And yet, being on stage, so public, surely no one would…

"They wouldn't want to bring attention to themselves like that."

"And they couldn't pay anyone we knew to do the job, could they?"

" I don't… think so."

The two adults paused their conversation as a couple of toddlers waddled past.

_**March 15th 2000 2145 hours**_ (Pacific)

Runt sat up quickly in his bed. A cold sweat had accumulated on his brow as he tried to figure out where he was without bringing too much attention to himself. Turning over to the side, he found the tiger looking thoughtfully in his direction. He wasn't usually this careless, dozing off in unfamiliar territory.

"You know, the way you look at me, it seems almost as if your right eye despises the sight of me and your left eye feels nothing." Uttam broke the silence once again.

Runt gave the tiger a quizzical look. "What was your act in the circus? Psychic?"

"I jumped through spiked fire hoops. But my 'mom' was a fortuneteller. So I'm right?"

"…No."

"You're a shit liar if you don't mind my saying so. Pardon my language."

"How do you know I was lying?"

"Because you just told me. If you'd been telling the truth, you'd have asked me _why_ I thought you were lying."

"Damnit."

"Yeah. Heh heh. So what's the deal? You a specist?"

"You tell me."

"I think you try to be, but you're not good at it."

"How do you…"

"My left eye sees nothing visible and everything invisible, hence the eye patch. Did you think it was missing or something?"

"Huh. Can your left eye tell me why?"

"Of course not. How could it tell me if you, yourself have already forgotten the reason?"

"You're starting to scare me a little."

"Ah, because you don't understand it. My powers of observation? Perhaps that is the reason you decided to hate felines as well. But why is it a lie that you tell yourself? That much I am curious about."

"There's a girl."

"There's always a girl."

"She's a cat."

The tiger blinked a few times registering the words. "I did not see that coming. You must love her."

"…"

"Well, do you?"

"Yeah, I mean…"

"But you've never told her."

"She's not into talking about that kind of stuff."

"What kind of stuff? Commitment? Relationships? Is she sensitive?"

"No. Yes. I dunno, why are we talking about Rita?"

"Rita? Hmm."

"What?"  
>"Nothing."<p>

"What nothing? What are you thinking?"  
>"You're upset now. Why now?"<p>

"What?"

"The reason you're upset is that you think I know something that I'm not telling you."

"So?"

"So why after proving to you that I can read your mind would you be upset that I'm not telling you something? There's a million things I'm not telling you. I assure you, whatever I'm holding back from you is because it doesn't concern you."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

The feline gave the dog a sly grin. "You're not fighting back wholeheartedly these days. Why Not?"

"What?" Runt was so caught up in this newly surfaced observation that he went along with it without a fight.

"Your fresh wounds overlap old scars. Your claws are fractured in sections and paws seem well calloused. You're likely used to getting your way physically most of the time. What gives?"

"Maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe I deserve it."

"You used to beat up cats and now you're letting them beat you up as your penance?"

"Something like that. I guess."

"So you're intending to break Rita's heart."

"What're you talking about?"

"You think her getting word that you were killed in this place is going to make her happy?"

"…"

"What good are you to her dead?"

"What good am I to her here? At least if I die I can haunt the bastards tracking her down."

"Trust me when I say this. A ghost cannot kill a wolf."

"…What did you just say?"

"A ghost cannot kill in this world. Why?"

"Nuh uh! You said something else."

"Did I? Then why did you ask what I said?"

"Because I wanted to hear you say it again, so I wasn't mistaken."

"This is a predicament, then. No matter what I say, your mind will tell you it's wrong because you don't know what it is that you think you heard."

"Why am I even listening to you?"  
>"Because you're not tired. Please calm down and lower your voice. You don't want to bring unnecessary attention to yourself in prison."<p>

"I know that."  
>"Then do it. … I forgot the topic."<p>

"…Dead."

"Oh yes. Sounds like you forgot, too. Getting excited over nothing can do that to you."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So you're going to have to trust in her."

"About what?"

"She's stayed alive this long, right?"

"Yeah."

"She can't live without you, right?"

"I guess."

"You can't live without her, right?"

"Not really."

"Then trust that she'll find a way to get you out. She was obviously the brains of your operation."

"Why 'obviously'?"

"Okay, _definitely_. Better?"

"!"

"Getting back to the point, your job is to stay alive in this place long enough for her to get you out of here somehow. I mean, right? What else do you gotta do?"

"…"

"Well, did you have something else in mind?"

"Maybe, that she should move on. I don't want to screw up her life by her breaking some laws to get me out."

"This is true, but could she ever feel what she feels for you for someone else?"

"…"

"Your mutual suffering has been great, no doubt. And such experience creates a sense of synergy. When you are apart, you're not complete. Either of you. Do you want her to be incomplete even moreso for the rest of her life?"  
>"How do you-"<p>

"Answer the question. Don't ask more. You think she'll be able to survive well enough on her own?"

"She can take care of herself. She's tough."

"Of course she can. When you're around. Once you make that kind of connection with somebody and break that connection, of course they're strong at first. But then, it starts to sink in… The emptiness. And it affects your timing, judgment and all other factors until you're too slow to keep up with your life. Because the pacing doesn't slow down just be cause you do. And you want to risk her like that?"

"No."

"So?"

"I'm gonna…"

"Don't say it if you don't mean it. For Gloria's sake, don't you waste it."

"Who's Gloria?"

"How do you think I know so much about this kind of thing?"

"She's on the outside waiting for you?"  
>"Was."<br>"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. But I'd rather hear you say you two won't end up like us."

"I swear we won't."

"You have a strength inside of you. Like a pole of a magnet. So does she. You're the north and she's the south. Never forget that again."

"I won't."

"I'm tired. Good night, Runt."

"Night, uh…"

"Uttam."

"Night Uttam. Thanks."

"_Nalla atir__ṣṭ__am ma__ṟṟ__um na__ṉṟ__āka vā__ḻ__ki__ṉṟ__a__ṉ__ar_."

_**March 16th 2000 0800 hours**_ (Central)

"Amoxi. Honey, phone."

As the wolf rubbed his eyes, the aroma of Kona streaked through the air. Generally, he'd be up and well into the day by now, but the past forty-eight hours had taken a real toll on his body. Rolling over, he grabbed the phone, refusing to acknowledge what one might assume to be his better half. Of course, she had already left the bedroom by the time he turned over in the first place.

"What?...Are you fuckin- Okay. Alright. Oh, well at least you cleaned up after yourselves. Do yourself a favor and shoot yourself in the face before I get over there. … What? No, you've done quite enough already. Stupid ass cat. I should've expected as much from your kind… what? No, don't shoot yourself. I'm not done with you yet… Yeah. Yeah, yeah. "

Amoxi grunted, tossing the phone onto the sofa. Storming into the kitchen the wolf took the entire pot of coffee of the maker, drinking it straight.

"You know the doctors said you should stop doing that. It's terrible for your throat."

Amoxi glared at the she-wolf, but put the pot down nevertheless and hopped on the breakfast bar.

"Gimme a steak and three eggs, will ya, Estel?" Though his words were gruff, there was a hint of considerateness in his tone.

"Oh gawd, what'd Greg screw up this time? You only have steak for breakfast when some plan's gone tits up."

"Girls shouldn't use that expression. Sounds funny."

"Whatever."

"That mutt's still kicking." Amoxi looked up.

"What? How is that even possible?"  
>"Greg paid some tiger in the sick bay to finish him off last night, but he didn't. Dunno why and I guess we'll never know, now."<p>

"Why's that?" Estel queried, causing Amoxi to smile for the first time that morning.

"Cause the tiger can't talk anymore. Sad to say that more people going to the clinic aren't making it out alive these days."

"So what about Runt?" Estel seemed to keep up with Amoxi's dealings as if he were a sales manager at a department store.

"Back in the feline ward."

"So you hafta bribe somebody new?"

Amoxi grinned as Estel put his eggs on a plate. "No need."

Estel cocked her head. "Why?"

"His new cellie," Amoxi bit into his breakfast, taking a slow gulp. " Was once with the 317."

"Those cat gangsters downtown?"

"The very same," the wolf smirked. "Take the steak off, Estel. I like my red meat bloody."

**-The End Part 11-**


	12. Chapter 12

_**March 16th 2000 1000 hours**_ (Pacific)

"So you're awake!"

Buttons groaned as his eyes refused to open as they were caked shut by sleep. Almost immediately a sense of panic overcame him, as this only happened when he had a drug-induced night of rest, and he had no recollection of making it home to even be in a bed. Clawing at his eyes, he rubbed the sleep out to find a big smile on a small body.

"Hi!" the girl said, putting her arms behind her back.

The basenji sniffed the air, unaware of his surroundings. He seemed to be in somebody's bedroom. Judging from the décor and furniture, it may well have belonged to the child in front of him. The IV drip on his arm caught his attention quickly, making the dog wonder if this was a normal state of affairs for whoever patched him up.

"Can't you talk?" the girl asked, taking a step closer to the bed. "You don't seem like the _other_ kind."

Buttons didn't dignify this with a response. Clearly, whoever actually aided him was competent in canine medicine, though he had no intention of being treated like a pet by yet another girl. Rolling as far over on his side as his predicament would allow him, the basenji closed his eyes, hoping the girl would get the hint.

"You can't still be tired, can you? You were in much better shape than the others and they always get up twice as fast as _you_."

"What others?" Buttons cocked his head, forgetting that he'd just vowed to give the human the silent treatment. "What is this place?" he faced her, waiting for a response, confused as the girl's eyes lit up like lanterns.

"You _do_ talk!" the girl exclaimed, further confusing the basenji. It wasn't a rarity for dogs to speak with humans. Not to Buttons' knowledge, anyway.

"Who _are_ you?"

"Oh, where are my manners? I'm Candice. You're at 443 West Melbrooke Lane. Daddy found you on the street and brought you here to fix up."

Buttons raised an eyebrow. The street address meant nothing to him. Why did kids recite their addresses as if they were secrets they dying to confess to someone?

"Your daddy always pick up animals off the street to nurse?"

The girl seemed oblivious to the dog's sarcastic tone. "Only dogs," she replied plainly, making the basenji even more suspicious.

"Why?" Although he was afraid to ask.

"Daddy's a Dogman."

_**March 16th 2000 1100 hours**_ (Pacific)

"You up top, punkass."

It wasn't the greatest line to solidify solidarity in a cell. Runt looked his significantly smaller cellie over for a good moment before entering the cell. The two waited, staring one another down as the guard walked out of sight. As soon as neither could hear the guard's footsteps, Runt walked over to the sink and splashed some cold water into his eyes, sighing as the liquid ran down his cheeks. His cellmate at first glance was seasoned. Among his numerous tattoos that were clearly significant in some cryptic way, the green '317' running down the left side of the cat's face was the most distinguishable. Turning the sink off, Runt turned to face the feline.

"Don't even talk to me. You think I want somebody thinkin' I'm down with a dog?"

Runt scratched his head. There was something hauntingly familiar in the cat's tone.

"But you are," the dog torted. "I mean, we're in the same cell and all."

"_My _cell!" The feline spat, glaring up at his adversary. "So you need to follow my rules or face the consequences."

Runt couldn't help but smirk. "I don't think so," he said, sitting on the cat's own bunk.

"Man, get your dirty ass up off my mattress!"

Runt balled up one of his fists, looking up at his cellie, knowing full well that the cat wouldn't retaliate. "You on your way to that Super Max if you get into another fight, right? Now why d'you suppose the C.O.'s stashed you in here with me, eh Garrett?"

"How you know all that?" Even through the cat's shades, Runt could tell his eyes dilated. "How you know my name?"

Runt stood up, confident of his alpha status. "You cats might run this wing," he pointed outside, then to himself. "But dogs run this prison."

"Everything cool over here?" The cellmates looked over to find a prison guard standing outside, PR 24 at the ready.

"Absofn'inlutely." The cellmates spoke the word in unison, eliciting a smirk from the both of them.

"Good luck, Garrett." The officer winked at the cat, causing the feline to protract one of his claws.

"What was_ that _about?" Runt mused with the officer out of sight.

"You know I gotta kill you, right?" The cat leaned against the bars gritting his teeth.

"If you do, you'll be on Death Row, huh?"

The cat looked away saying nothing.

"If you try, you're going to Super Max. 23 hour lockdown for the rest of your life."

Garrett growled softly, folding his arms.

"But if you do nothing, tomorrow your 'people' come after you."

The cat rolled his eyes and bent down to tie his shoes. As he lunged forward, he aimed the spring for Runt's throat, thrusting with all the might he could muster. Of course, Runt had anticipated this action from the second he stepped into the cell and countered with the cat's pillowcase at the last second, snapping Garrett's finger back like a twig. As he was still relatively new to the concept of sympathy for enemies, the mutt squeezed the cat's arm in his left and gripped his fingers with his right applying some pressure as if he intended to snap the feline's wrist off his arm. Just before instinct demanded that he follow through on this action, the cat's shades fell to ground, causing the lenses to shatter into a million pieces. Looking at the cat's face, Runt was taken aback and nearly let go as he looked away.

"Yeah? Go 'head and break it. Like y'all took this."

The mutt's morbid curiosity piqued, Runt shoved the cat to the ground, keeping his eye on him.

"A dog did it?"

"A pack." The cat hurled the two words like venom. Runt looked away trying to mask the subtleties of shame from surfacing across his face.

"My twin and I were out late. Took a wrong turn on the way to a party."

"Wrong territory, law one of the street."

"That's some fucked up code y'all have. We only take an eye if you take an eye."

"I didn't write it."

"Held me on the concrete and just plucked it out like they were pulling grapes. My left, my brother's right."

"Were you a banger before that?" Runt didn't want to think about it… get a mental picture of the cruelty inflicted on the other. For some reason, he felt responsible.

"Naw. Get the fuck off my bunk, will ya?"

Runt sighed and stood up. Whatever he thought about felines was slowly starting to dissipate from his perception of the cat. This one had been trapped by the game before he was even playing it. It was almost like her…

"317?"

Garrett stormed over to his bunk and started doing lunges on the rail.

"Yeah. Not like I wanted to bang, but I just didn't wanna be outnumbered anymore."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Really?" Garrett's tone caused Runt to inadvertently look him in the eye. "I bet all the others out there would slit your throat without hesitation, you being with Rita and all. It's like we're not good enough for her."

Runt rolled his eyes. "You think like that too?"

"I hate y'all, no doubt." The feline asserted. "But if I thought like they did, I wouldn't have left the 317."

The mutt took a seat on the floor across from Garrett, still not comfortable enough to not be able to see him.

"I did all kinds of arbitrary shit with those guys. They used to feed us stuff like we were doin' it to promote the well-being of felines, but we never left the block, you know?"

Runt cocked his head, unsure of what to say, as his own mind was spinning a million miles a minute. _Arbitrary? _The mutt mused.

"One time," Garrett added, "One time, Blinky shot this dog's face off just because he made a wrong turn. I mean… we sitting here, goin' to the gang to make sure that don't happen to us anymore and here we are doin' the same thing to someone else."

"Yeah…"

"Just wasn't feelin' the cycle no more, you know?"

"Mmm." Runt was at a loss for articulation for some reason. Something didn't seem to add up.

"So when I saw you two on TV," Garrett continued. "I thought to myself, 'that's the only way we gonna break the cycle.'"

"What'd your friends say about that?"

"You know, 'you crazy', 'quit canin'', stuff like that."

"What's 'canin'?"

"C'mon, you know."

"No."

"Kissin' dog ass. Keep up."

"Huh."

"So I split, went down the Cali to get away from it. Problem followed me here, though."

"So do you still hate dogs? I mean, really?"

"More or less, just hate everything. My kind included. Can't be sayin' that around here, though and I'm not ready to die yet, so that's where I am."

"Guess so." Runt scratched his head, unsure of himself.

"How 'bout you?"

"I'm not really from the street, actually. Grew up on a farm back in Idaho."

"Really? I used to work on a farm. Well, seven or eight of 'em." Garrett looked up at Runt to see the mutt's expression sour a bit.

"What?" he mused.

"You weren't part of the Sephia Project, were you?" the dog queried, causing his cellmate to look at his feet.

"Yeah. Yeah, you were that slave labor that dried our fields out, right?"

"We wasn't no mothafuckin' slaves, alright?" Garrett boomed standing up.

Runt was unimpressed. "How much you all make an hour?"

"They gave us food, clothes and a place to live, you know?" The cat calmed himself significantly, thinking back. "Daddy said after my litter, it was much better than scrapping in the alleys. Just too many mouths to feed and not enough money or space to go around."

"Damn Sephia Project. They used your kind and made the family farms go bankrupt. That's why dad always had something bad to say about cats." Runt recalled. "Like y'all should be have be castrated after one litter and shit."

"I bet you ate that shit up, didn't you?" the feline commented, not waiting for a response. "When did you decide it was all bullshit? I mean you wouldn't have been with Rita if you still thought like that…"

Runt scratched his head, a little embarrassed.

"Don't tell me, man it was all a front, whatn't it?" Garrett looked as if he just learned the truth about Santa Clawz.

"I love Rita." Runt declared with fervor. It was loud enough so those within ear's shot of their cell could clearly hear, sending the entire block into a cluster bomb of swearing. Had they not been on lockdown, the entire facility would have erupted in a wave of bedlam and anarchy. Runt didn't bother to catch Garrett's reaction. He didn't need approval from a cat.

Or anyone else, for that matter.

_**March 16th 2000 1500 hours**_ (Pacific)

Larry King: Welcome back everyone. I've been speaking with actor, Danny Mannigen of 'Cats Don't Dance' fame. Joining us live via satellite is another veteran of the stage and music industry global known as Rita. Pleasure to have you both on.

Danny: Thanks, Larry.

Rita: Pleasure's mine.

Larry King: Now before the break Danny, you and I were talking about the parallels of your film and the industry today. Rita, I wanted to ask you if you also think there's a double standard for non-human entertainers in the media?

Rita: As far as…

Larry King: As far as how difficult it is to get and maintain work.

Rita: Um…

Larry King: It's okay if you don't want to answer.

Rita: No, I mean, I'm not sure if I'm going to offend anyone, you know? I mean, if you've got something to bring to the table that no one else has, it's got nothing to do with your species, you know? I mean, look at Danny sitting across from you. He's an incredible dancer and has a great voice. They'd be stupid not to cast him.

Larry King: I believe the same can be said about you. Danny, what is your response?

Danny: I'm flattered, you know. Coming from someone like Rita that really means a lot. But I have to disagree with you on this, Rita. And here's the thing. Look at the number of studios willing to work with us as opposed to strictly people. Last time I counted there were only nine studios in film that would even consider hiring either one of us, but more than 400 that would cast you, Larry.

Larry King: Well I don't know about that. I'm not really one for musical numbers, but I understand what you're saying. Is that the basis of your grievance? The amount of, and I hate to use this term, 'animal-friendly' studios, or lack thereof?

Danny: It's clearly indicative of the basic prejudices in the media masterminds. I mean, how much money did Tom Cruise gross in 'Mission Impossible?' Something like $70 million, right?

Larry King: I think that might be a bit exaggerated, but roughly around that. What's you're point?

Danny: Bugs didn't make even close to that in sixty years even after doing _Space Jam_.

Larry King: It is a fact that non-human actors and actresses make significantly less than your human counterparts.

Danny: And that's precisely what we're trying to change.

Larry King: Rita, are you included in Danny's crusade?

Rita: I'm sorry, what?

Larry King: You seem to be a little distracted. Is it, well, I saw you in the courtroom. We all did during the sentencing. How are you holding up?

Rita: Let's say I sit here and told you the truth about what was going on. Would you believe it or would you think I was just trying to get Runt out?

Larry King: Obviously you're concerned for him, but that doesn't necessarily kill your credibility.

Danny: Rita…

Rita: Well let's say something's going on where the players involved have their slimy tentacles going every which way. Maybe they're even in Atlanta.

Larry King: Well I can't vouch for anyone else, but I'm sure not on the take or I'd have retired 20 years ago!

Rita: Sure, sure, but what good would it do?

Larry King: Well I'm sure whatever you say will have an impact one way or another. But hold that thought, will you? We're going to take a short commercial break, but we'll be right back.

...

...

Larry King: We're back and with Danny Mannigen and I via satellite from an undisclosed location is none other than the lovely Rita. Rita, during the commercial break you confessed something to me that would no doubt shock viewers, particularly fans of your show. Would you like to share this with the rest of the world?

Rita: At this point, why not? The silence isn't helping anything. I'm a product of the pet trade. Yeah, Larry it still goes on in the States.

Larry King: Danny, you've worked with Rita in the past. Did you know about this?

Danny: No! Oh my god… I'm… well it all makes sense, your songs and the themes from your episodes, now. Did you tell that to the writers, Rita?

Rita: Of course I didn't. They wouldn't have hired me if they knew. Larry, if you didn't know, cats from the pet trade come with a certain stigma. It's not always fair or accurate, but it's there.

Larry King: And what sort of stigma would that be?

Rita: I suppose the gentle term would be alley cats. Emphasis on the 'alley' bit.

Larry King: Oh my. Now the pet trade has been illegal for twelve years in the US now and likened to human trafficking, but it must have been pretty widespread back in the days.

Danny: And this is the problem, Larry. You think marijuana disappeared just because they made a law? Didn't they used to put cocaine in cola? So now, when they catch these illegal pet stores because many of the victims are refugees with no papers, they just euthanize or throw them in concentration camps you like to call city pounds.

Larry King: Is that true? I mean, how many pet stores do you think are in operation underground today?

Rita: What do you think Runt went to the slammer for?

Larry King: Danny, you look like you know something about this.

Danny: Hmm? No, I was just nodding. I mean it wouldn't surprise me. Cops don't respond to tips on these places. I can testify to that from my own experiences.

Larry King: There are pet stores in New York?

Danny: Like you wouldn't believe.

Larry King: Oh my. We'll have to look into that sometime. Rita, have you been to see Runt yet?

Rita: I can't. They say he put me on the 'no visitors' list.

Larry King: What do you make of that?

Danny: He probably doesn't want her anywhere near a prison.

Rita: I'm pretty busy working with his lawyer on the appeals to think about it too much.

Larry King: How's that coming?

Rita: Steady. Pretty steady.

Larry King: Looks like you'll have a shot?

Rita: Definitely. Of course ultimately we're hoping to persuade Governor Davis to grant him clemency, but that depends on how much we can prove.

Larry King: Can you tell us anything you've learned so far?

Rita: I could. But that might put Runt in danger in prison.

Danny: He couldn't be in any more trouble if we're right about him.

Rita: Well, maybe I'll catch them off-guard. Force their hand for a change.

Danny: Better hurry before they pull the plug on this interview.

Larry King: If you're uncomfortable…

Rita: Amoxi. Amoxi Garou, LUF Chicago charter.

Larry King: …

Danny: !

Larry King: I …have no idea what that means.

Rita: He's what you'd call a Benedict Arnold; a wolf in every sense of the word including the literal.

Larry King: So what does he have to do with this whole thing?

Rita: He runs a number of…brothels in Chicago, and finances some nightclubs among other businesses in Los Angeles.

Danny: Rita…

Rita: They bought me out when I was younger. Made me sing at their clubs. I didn't know anything different and didn't even know I was being forced to stay for the longest time.

Larry King: When did you find out?

Rita: …the night I first met Runt.

_**March 16th 2000 1600 hours**_ (Pacific)

"Runt, I'm asking you nicely. Treating you with respect."

"Call me 'Alphonse', _ossifer._" Runt's eyes narrowed at the CO trying to coax him out.

"Alphonse, please. This is the last time I can ask you to cuff up or the SORT Team is coming in after you."

"Do what you gotta do, Hickam. You gotta _drag_ my ass to solitary." Runt glanced over at Garrett, who grabbed his hand towel and prepared for the pepper spray.

"It's not solitary, it's protective custody. There's no way you're walking out of here alive now that Rita's ousted him on national television. The bounty probably just quadrupled on your head."

"Why don't you say it louder, officer? I'm not sure they heard you on the southeast corner." Runt could see the SORT team climbing the stairs, marching towards them with their riot shields and batons.

"You know," Runt said to no one in particular, " I've always wondered what it would be like to get tased."

"You'll get your wish if you don't cuff up, dog." The SORT Team leader sounded every bit as surly and ignorant as he looked. To his credit, Runt lasted for at least a minute, which was significantly longer than most of his contemporaries could say. The warm feeling he had, as he was strapped to the restraint chair, was not due to the volts shooting through his body, but the fact that Garrett had slugged an officer completely unprovoked and didn't seem as if he'd done simply for the hatred for authority. Now that he had been forced in a cell extraction and hadn't gone willingly, there was a good chance Garrett would not be punished for not killing him. Win/win for the most part.

_**March 16th 2000 1750 hours**_ (Pacific)

"You gonna play possum all evening, bud?"

Buttons sat up cautiously, wondering how he could escape if he had to. He wished his foot were in a cast instead of a sling so he could use it to strike if necessary, but maybe he had been overly cautious. The man standing above him… his scent was on the bandages and IV as well. So this was his savior; a lanky, balding short guy.

"Uh sorry," Buttons managed to mumble. "And thanks."

"No need to thank me, bud. Just doin' what comes naturally, I guess."

The dog wrinkled his forehead, remembering what the man's most likely daughter had said earlier. "Do you mind my asking a question about…_it_?"

The man smiled, taking a seat next to Buttons. "It?" he mused.

"I mean, do you need the full moon to change? Are you allergic to garlic or is it silver and why is **that** or _that_ an allergy?"

The man looked at the basenji as if he were a special type of insane. "Oh goodness gracious, where to begin? First of all, that's three questions and second, has this IV somehow be replaced with liquefied angel dust or something?"

Buttons looked away before responding. "Your daughter said you were some kind of Dogman. Is that like a werewolf? 'Cause you smell human to me."

The man started to laugh almost hysterically, but Buttons could easily tell it was exaggerated and more nervous laughter than anything else. But what did he have to hide?

"That's what they call trainers in the sport I'm associated with. But I'm not really a trainer, so…"  
>"Nuh uh. What sport calls people dogm-" Buttons' blood ran cold as he realized the truth.<p>

Sensing the reason for his patient's abrupt halt, the man stood up, giving the basenji some space.

"It's not what you think. I don't have a choice, anyway. Name's Carter. I made a stupid mistake a long time ago and lost my license as a vet. We were going to default on the home and I still wanted to help animals, you know?"

"So volunteer at an animal shelter." Buttons' rage completely erased any gratitude he might have shown for the man patching him up. But why?

"They register you in a database so no one will even let me work even at a pet store the way they wrote about my mistake. I mean, dog fighters… they just neglect their investments, you know? I figured I could do some good when they offered me to be the fight doc."

"So you're like those doctors that goes to the torture room during the interrogation."

"Go ahead, I deserve it. But I fixed you up, didn't I? I'm really not all bad. And you can't just say no to a gambling ring with certain influence over certain boards."

"So what's the quota, Carter?" Buttons snarled. "You mind if I call you that? What, if you help one hundred dogs live a bit longer so they can suffer in the ring more, they'll get you your license back so you can help animals again?"

"When you put it that way…"

"Here's an idea… You want to help animals, stop joining up with the guys that are killing off my kind and giving my brothers a bad name." Buttons hobbled out of his bed growling as Carter reached out to help steady him. He made it nearly to the door before falling over. Muscle relaxers. Despite the man's humble stature, he was rather strong and helped Buttons back into the bed.

"You didn't think it would be that easy to leave this, did you?" Carter said, forcing a chuckle. "Trust me, I've tried it, too. We're stuck here. Might as well make the best of it."

_**March 16th 2000 2000 hours**_ (Pacific)

The gray tabby looked as if he were going to puke. Doing the right thing in the case would invite nothing but trouble for his family for the rest of his life, but staying idle on the sidelines seemed an equally dangerous bet. Gregory knew in his heart that the moment Runt was eliminated, the organization would have little if any use for him, lest he confess something to someone later down the road. The only thing keeping his heart beating, he knew was the fact that many believed he knew the whereabouts of the rogue singer, but if he were to deceive anyone, he'd have only one chance at it.

"So it's settled, then?"

Gregory looked up at his present company. Sitting in the far corner of an anonymous café, the last thing he felt was safe, considering his present company.

"Greg, are you even listening to me?"

"I'll do it, Minerva. Just make sure you take care of your half of the bargain. They've got to be safe."

"Don't worry about your family."

Gregory looked at his watch, getting increasingly nervous. "Your convoy's here," he whispered as he got up.

Minerva pretended not to notice as the cat slunk out of the café, leaving her safe to meet with her co-workers. _That has got to be the most paranoid cat,_ she thought.

About two blocks into his trip, Gregory struggled to stifle a laugh as his plan started to come together. He anticipated the timing down to the tire squeal as the wolves exited. _Them_. He tried his level best to show fear as the barrel of a pistol was shoved into his back.

"I'll give ya a ride if you want," the wolf sounded cheerful enough to the other pedestrians on the street who hadn't noticed just what was happening as the firearm was concealed from their vantage points.

"How considerate!" Gregory piped. "My dogs are barking, after all," he added, winking at no one in particular.

Inside the vehicle, Gregory's fear was no longer contrived as one of the wolves shoved his Berretta against his eye, pulling the hammer back with a grin.

"Wh-wha?" the cat stammered.

"Yeah, Amoxi said you had 48 hours, but I'm not that patient."

"She's in Trenton!" Gregory gasped trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Jersey?" the wolf interrogating him wrinkled his forehead.  
>"I was gonna catch a flight there tomorrow."<p>

"We'll come along." The wolf grinned wide, showing his yellow teeth.

"I figured as much."

Lowering his weapon, the wolf patted Gregory on the shoulder a few times before squeezing hard, eliciting a whimper from the feline.

"We'll catch the red-eye tonight, though," he declared, turning around to instruct the driver.

During the ride, nobody seemed to notice the cat send a text message from his pocket. Years of boredom had taught him to memorize keys without looking. Now there was nothing left, but to wait and see.

_**-End Part 12-**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**March 17th 2000 0530 hours**_ (Eastern)

If you were so inclined to ask him, Greg probably could not tell you whether he had a lucid dream the entire flight or simply refused to open his eyes, but his mind had been on his children from the moment the safety video loomed on the video screens. Had it been a safe bet, sending them to Ottawa? Of course it had, but this was not his concern. The cat knew that even if he succeeded in surviving this trip, there was a distinct probability that he would never see his family again.

"Please remain seated until the captain has turned off the safety belt light."

Pretending to be oblivious was useless at this point.

"Get ready, Rip Van Damn Winkle," the lupine henchman in the aisle seat acknowledged his decision to join the conscious. He could not respond before the wolf in the window seat mussed his tuft of hair aggressively. Greg suspected that the gesture hadn't been inherently malicious, as the wolf seemed to have done this action a million times to his kinfolk. Unfortunately, being a smaller species, he likened the feeling to having sandpaper grinded into his scalp. The gray tabby's instinct was to leap to his feet as soon as the bell sounded when the plane finished taxiing. Before he could even get into an awkward standing position, one of the wolves yanked his tail, pulling him back to his seat. No other passengers noticed, save a middle-aged, slightly obese man with the look of a middle school gym teacher painted on him, but even his verbal rebuke was stifled before it could start by a sharp glance by all seven wolves present. Greg forced a grin on his face nodding to the man as if to assure him that everything was fine.

After the rest of the passengers deplaned, including half of the pack, Greg was given the order to leave. He found it frustrating that he knew none of their names. Truth be told, he only knew Amoxi and Galford's names. He wondered if that had been intentional on their part. The crew navigated the labyrinth of poorly planned construction and signage, eventually allowing Greg, who was familiar with the location to take point until they bypassed baggage claim to the exit. Though it was a Friday, pedestrian traffic was light. St. Patrick's Day likely the cause, as Greg was reminded from seeing multiple cabbies hanging around the main lobby wearing green. A few of the drivers smiled and waved to him and his company. The wolves assumed that Greg was waving back. It might have been a fair assumption and while they were inclined to join in the gesture to keep suspicions low, it suddenly became apparent that the gray cat had, in fact been signaling to some other felines who looked oddly similar to Greg himself.

Naturally the wolves had surrendered their ammunition before boarding the plane; no point in bringing additional federal attention to their organization. Just as Greg dashed forward, leaping to the floor, the lupines' flight reflex kicked in a microsecond too late as each of the mysterious visitors allowed their Berrettas to articulate their intentions, the barrage of bullets burrowing into their targets with frightening accuracy. Not a single shot wasted.

Although he'd set the ambush himself, Gregory took no real pleasure in turning over to witness a tabby much younger than he calmly take a step forward, retrieve his own shell casings, then take a step towards a wounded wolf and end his suffering. From the young one's expression, Greg read that he'd done it out of compulsion for completion rather than sympathy. The cat felt a slap on his head, looking up to find a familiar face soured from years of performing such tasks. He suspected his old comrade was shouting at him to get going, though he could hear nothing but a ringing in his ears that echoed all the way to his chest. The screams of the few bystanders hadn't registered yet, either. Even as he was piled into one of the taxis, Greg couldn't shake a tinge of guilt, having no names to mourn or ask forgiveness of in the afterlife.

"Thanks, Vinne." Greg finally found his voice after the fifteenth hairpin turn into the turnpike. Vinne was Greg's oldest friend. The two grew up together, getting kicked out of school and multiple work assignments. Vinne didn't even glance at Greg, as usual. He had been a true local, never straying beyond the confines of his city. Their blood oath stained by Greg's decision to move to Chicago all those years ago and yet, this cold shoulder seemed somehow icier than he'd expected. Looking to his left, Greg signed to Macky an inquiry. Macky was the leader, if such a title had ever had been given, to the group. He was a shade darker than Greg but a bit lighter than Vinne.

"Don't mind him," Macky whispered, opening the window so Vinne couldn't hear what he was saying. "He's just pissed about what you did to his sister."

_**March 17th 2000 0905 hours**_ (Pacific)

"Yo!"

"Sup?"

"Yo Alpo!"

"It's 'Runt'!"

"Aight, Run-tay!"

"…"

"Run-tay!"

"What?"

"Man y'all shut the fuck up, aight?"

"What? Punk ass cat! You lucky you on the other side!"

"Say word mutha. I fuck you up so bad you mama ain't gonna recognize yo corpse, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Corpse? Monti, you been watchin' Discovery?"

"Shut up! Ain't no big word or nothin'. Yo Run-tay!"

"Yeah?"

" Don't let it get you down, dawg. We ain't gonna let no one fuck witchu here, aight?"

"'Ppreciate it, Monti."

"Yeah, we got love for you too, Runt."

"Man, I told you shut your damn mouth, cat! Dumbass feli-"  
>"C'mon chill, Monti."<p>

"Say what?"

"Look, we all locked up in this shit, right? You know we got them C.O.s outnumbered something like 20 to 1, right?"

"Word."

"So why they in charge and we not? Think about it."

"…They got guns"

"Naw, think about it, Monti. They want us to hate each other."

"Nuh uh…"

"…"

"…"

"…Run-tay?"

"Yeah, Monti?"

"Why?"

"Cuz then we spend our time competing with each other, here and in the streets and they get to rule everything because all of us is too busy fighting fights they start with cats instead of them so they win all the time. Goddamn people."

"…"

"…"

"That wasn't just a TV show, was it, Run-tay?"

"Nah. I love her, ya know?"

"Damn. Yo cat, what's yo name?"

"Norman."

"Aight."

Though his vantage point was as limited as the rest of the prisoners in the PC unit, Runt could almost see the look on Monti's face as the Rottweiler let it all sink in. With any luck, he'd remain quiet for a few more minutes.

"Yo Run-tay!"

So much for silence.

_**March 17th 2000 0905 hours**_ (Pacific)

"Hey, I feel like a million bucks! What'd you give me, doc?"

"The name wouldn't mean anything to you, since it's an experimental drug not yet on the market."

"Even so, what is it?"

"Naproxyphlene," Carter said. "Kinda like an anti-barbituate, if you will."

Buttons yawned, stretching as far as his stiff limbs would allow from the hours of forced immobility. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that this had something to do with you losing your license," he mused, inspecting the prosthetic toe he'd been fitted with. It was basically for cosmetic purposes, as he couldn't actually move it, but it was much better than the non-existent alternative.

The levity drained from Dr. Carter's face as he contemplated the dog's assertion, cluing Buttons into the fact that he'd guessed accurately. The two sat in silence for a moment before Carter took a deep breath and let it out through his nose.

"A buddy of mine had made this in a lab," he began, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "To spare you the details, two grams of a particular ingredient will get you three to five in a federal prison."

"Gotcha."

"Yeah, so the FDA said he couldn't test it, and to get rid of it, but it was the most amazing thing I've ever seen to revive a patient after surgery, see? And of course, big cliché, I had a surgery that was going downhill fast and I still had the sample he'd given me before he tried to submit the drug legally and while it saved my patient, somebody must've set me up because the cops came in and next thing you know, I'd lost my license."

"Tough break." Buttons wanted to say something more meaningful, but there was no real benefit in doing so and he knew it all too well. "You ever think that the guys that ratted on you might've been the ones that put you here in the first place in this situation?"

Carter raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he walked to the door.

"Hey, so you're gonna keep, err…" Buttons began.

"You're free to go as soon as the meds wear off in a few hours," the man interrupted, anticipating the inquiry.

"But I thought-"

"Just make sure you go _today_ and get as far away as you can." With that, he closed the door, ending the chance for rebuttal or gratitude.

_**March 17th 2000 1117 hours**_ (Central)

"I know, I know. Alright." Hanging up the phone, it took every fiber of restraint the wolf had to not smash the receiver into a million pieces so he could get some relative peace for once. There wasn't a specific instance that he could pinpoint when he'd gone from hunter to hunted, but he was not about to become willing prey to anyone. Learning the fate of his Jersey-bound cronies, Amoxi had decided on a change of strategy, focusing more on stopping Rita from shedding any more light on the organizations than ensuring that the mutt had been off'd in prison. So much as his intel went, Rita had been focused on passive resistance, trying to clear Runt's name rather than break him out. He would have to deal with Gregory, and soon to ensure that never happened.

"Daddy, Mommy wants to know if you want some waffles."

Amoxi's eyes landed upon his daughter standing in the doorway. His ears had been ringing on account of the numerous phone calls and he had been so deeply flooded in contemplation that he hadn't even noticed that he wasn't alone.

"Never mind. I'll tell her you're goin'."

"How do you know that?" Amoxi managed to ask before the girl disappeared.

"You've got that 'goin' away for a week' look in your eye."

The gray wolf sighed, trying to suppress a smile. Nikki was right, as usual. Twelve going on twenty.

_**March 17th 2000 1500 hours**_ (Pacific)

Hearing the tock of a clock normally set his mind at ease, especially while incarcerated. Something about the consistency of the sound made it easier to equate the passage of time to aimless existence. Yet even with the presence of the background noise he coveted present, Runt could not feel at ease as he was led to the prisoner-side of the visiting room. The corridor was a tint darker than most of the prison and narrow enough to make Runt feel a bit claustrophobic despite the dimensions of his general accommodations.

As soon as the door opened he could sense it. Not by scent, the nine inches of plate glass deterred this confirmation, but rather by the instinctual higher sense one might feel when in the vicinity of a long, lost friend or kin. The very sight of the two waiting for him near the middle of the room made Runt want to walk past them and back to his cell without so much as a glance, although he knew this was impossible, as he allowed himself to lock eyes with his father, sealing his fate as he took a seat, hesitating a bit to pick up the receiver.

"Damn, sonny," his father wrinkled his nose, turning away slightly as he barked into the phone. "You stink like pussycat even here."

Runt refused to dignify this with a response and focused his attention on his mother who'd wrestled away the receiver and bopped her husband on the head for good measure.

"Hey ma."

"Oh Alfonso, _hai rotto la tua promessa a me nuovo_." Her eyes spoke volumes of hurt, but what really hit Runt was her voice. He only recalled hearing his mother speak Italian when she couldn't think straight, as was the case with her entire family. Runt forced himself not to look away, but rather stared at his mother, trying to burn the image of her pain into the back of his mind so he'd never disappoint her again if he got out of this.

"Too late, Alphonso. You do that twice already." Her tone indicated that she'd come to grips with the reality, and fast. Runt sighed, unsure if he was feeling relief or regret, as his Italian was nearly nonexistent at this point.

"I watched "West Side Story" the other day, ma," Runt grinned as his mother raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Most of it anyway. We don't get much choice of channels over here," he explained, causing his father to look away in disgust once more. It was obvious he preferred his son to watch nothing at all as opposed to a musical.

"There's this line though, when the girl's singing to her friend after her brother was killed, though…"

"Maria."

"Huh?"

"Her name."

"Oh. Yeah, that's it. Anyways, she says to her friend Something about it's not true for me. It's true for you. Not me. Kinda got me thinking about _him_," Runt nodded towards his father.

"Alphonso! Don't be _puerile_. You talk to you father when he's here." She snapped, giving the typical mother glance.

The younger mutt grimaced for a moment before remembering his place. Taking a deep breath, he faced his father, who glanced up at him for a moment.

"See," he said, intentionally omitting the pronoun, "There's these two gangs that hate each other, but are basically the same except they're from different places and they're fighting over the same turf."

"So they dance around in tights 'till they see eye to eye or somethin'?" the disdain in the elder dog's tone was palpable.

"Not really. They stab each other and shoot until one of them goes to jail."

"So it's my fault, Alphonse, is it?"

Runt stood up almost as fast as his father did, refusing to let the older dog stare him down for once. Breaking all sorts of taboos and longstanding cultural norms was the last thing on the younger mutt's mind, but he was determined to be heard for once, regardless of the consequences. As his mother picked up the dropped receiver, Runt sat back down, letting his eyes go out of focus.

"Why don't you just settle down with a nice Bolognese? She no good for you, right? How many times you go to jail from her? That's a sign at least."

Runt made no real indication that he heard his mother. Instead, he signaled for the guard and walked away, not bothering to look back as his mother banged on the glass. After the door shut, the C.O. addressed the mutt in the hallway.

"Pretty effed up thing to do to your folks, Just leaving without so much as a goodbye."

Runt stopped walking and turned to the side, not responding. Bending down, the mutt began coughing violently until he dropped to his knees. It took the officer a moment to realize the pool of blood and saliva had soiled one of his shoes.

_**March 17th 2000 1700 hours**_ (Eastern)

"He ain't dead yet, is he?"

Gregory looked over at his old friend, wondering what had brought this on. He spent most of the day trying to make sense of what Macky had said about Vinne's brother, but had gotten nowhere. Vinne had never mentioned a family once, even as a kitten. They'd grown up in the same foster circuit, and as far as he knew, Vinne knew nothing about his kin. Greg turned his attention back to the immediate inquiry. He assumed the other cat was speaking about Runt.

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"Why not?"

As much as it was a typical follow-up, Greg hadn't anticipated such a question.

"I told 'em to fuck 'im up, but not kill."

"Why not?" Anger spewed out of Vinne mouth along with flecks of saliva.

"Because _they _toldme to off 'em." Greg made a subconscious decision to appeal to the militant purist side of his old comrade, not knowing the floodgates he'd just unleashed.

"And?" Vinne's eyes narrowed a bit as he started circling the other.

Greg was thoroughly confused by this need for elaboration. "'**And'**?"

"Somethin' tells me there's more." The light reflected off of Vinne's teeth, giving him an almost translucent hue as he sat behind his old friend.

"Typical Vinne. You haven't changed a bit," Greg was concerned that the overcompensation of nonchalance would easily reveal his nervousness.

"Same for you. So spill it."

"Alright, but you gotta tell me something. Why don't you look happy to see me all of a sudden?"

"Macky ain't tell youse?"

"So it's real?"

"Real as you standin' there."

"I can't remember for the life of me. I mean, who is she?"

"I just found out a couple of years ago? Gotta spare the details, you know. Confidentiality and all."

"Of course. But who _is _she?"  
>Vinne took a deep breath. "Don't worry about it. You didn't know. Anyways, if <em>you<em> don't off 'im, _I_ will."

"What'd Runt ever do to you?"

"You look out on the streets these days? Ever since that show took off, everybody been thinkin' since it's on TV, it's okay for real. As if we didn't have enough effed up worthless crossbreeds as it is, now we're gonna start having a lot of sterile girls."

"You believe in that shit?" Greg was beginning to have flashbacks of Chicago, being around the 317.  
>"Ain't I right? You wanna see a 'cag' walking around? Or maybe you'd rather raise a litter of 'dots'."<p>

"They …we can't-"

"Exactly. And if I don't make it public, then more and more cats gonna start thinking that's okay, you know? It'll screw up the gene pool even more. Why you think dogs is usually bigger than cats 'cept in the jungle? They know what's up. Do you?"

"What have you been smoking, Vinne?"

"Yeah, funny guy. Keep laughing it up. If it ain't okay with nature, it ain't okay, period. I ain't make the rules, but I'll damn sure enforce 'em."

"So why even help me in the first place? I'm not gonna let you do something to Rita."

"Why you think I would do anything to hurt a cat? 'Specially a female. Besides…"

"…besides what?"

"Look just squash it. Be sure you don't get in my way, that's all. Far as I'm concerned, the next generation could do without your weak-ass genes."

With that, Vinne jumped out the window, leaving the other alone to contemplate the severity of the threat. Clearly Vinne was upset, though this seemed more of a personal vendetta than the archetypal far right extremist on a mission. Of course, Vinne was governed by emotions, driven by desire and fueled by fierce feelings, but something was clearly off about him today. Either that or he'd really changed in the ten years the tow had been apart. But who was his sister, and how had Greg done her wrong?

_**-The End Part 13-**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**March 17th 2000 1900 hours**_ (Pacific)

"Movin' on up in the world, eh Hickam? When did you qualify as a transport officer?"

"Yeah, well you know me. Like to keep things close to the chest."

"I thought we agreed to keep that quiet at work."

"Oops. Heh heh, sorry, ma'am."

Officer Hickam sighed with relief as Lt. Murphy went on her way. Everything would have gone to crap had she decided to tag along. Stepping foot outside the final gate, Hickam approached the State Trooper's car.

"Far be it for me to ask questions, but if he's not serious enough for an ambulance, why are we transporting him to an outside hospital?"

Hickam looked at the backseat, finding that Runt was either asleep from the meds forced down his throat or feeling the side effects of the serum. For a split second, he hesitated to open the door. This whole ordeal seemed quite a risk which would be compounded greatly if-

"Ready to go, officer?"

"Yepper! Just waitin' on you!"

_**March 17th 2000 2215 hours**_ (Eastern)

"Tell me again, what's in Nevada?"

"Vegas. Reno. Criss Angel."

"Who?"  
>"He's a street magician… you never heard of him?"<p>

"Bobby, I think Rita wants to know why we're going to Nevada."

"Gotta make a withdrawal there. She should come. Besides. I can't leave it up to you two knuckleheads to go there or protect her here, so she comes with. Capiche?"

_**March 17th 2000 2230 hours**_ (Eastern)

Closing the cab door, Amoxi stepped onto the sidewalk a nervous wreck, flinching as a stray breeze greeted him. A snarl emanated on his face as he contemplated shaving his fur for the fourth time since arriving in Miami. 72 degrees in January was simply cruel and unusual punishment. The process of elimination clearly pointed to this location, as all of Rita's coworkers were either under supervision or cleared of having any knowledge of her whereabouts. The timber wolf took a long drag of his cigar, stopping in front of the nightclub. Before he could inhale, a stray thought blindsided his defenses, likely triggered by the current venue. Baring his fangs, he shook his head, losing the idea as well as the cancer stick in the process. A spark danced on the pavement for a moment before disappearing. As he grinded his boot into the cigar, a malicious plot hatched in his brain. Even so, for once, his intentions did not make him smile.

_**March 17th 2000 2245 hours**_ (Eastern)

"Rita?" All things considered, the news should not have been so shocking to Greg. The family resemblance was uncanny regardless of the fact that Vinne had been born in an earlier litter out of 'wedlock', a more contemporary concept that was nonexistent at his conception.

"So you can appreciate what a delicate situation this is, right?" Mackey took a long drag of his pipe, eventually letting the smoke linger through his nostrils. "Cheer up, anyway. How could you know? He didn't."

Greg started to sweat, his contemporary unaware that the news had weakened his resolve significantly, the opposite of Mackey's intentions. Celebrities were notorious for being manipulated to further the agendas of schemers, that much was gospel. Although he had been a decidedly crucial factor in her initial subjugation, Greg had also been the cat who set up her tryout when things started to go south. He didn't look the part, but he was the kind of feline who would fail at gardening, as he would feel depressed at the end of the life cycle of every rose in his flowerbed. Rita was a rare talent, even less suited for a life of enslavement than the average cat. If what Vinne suggested were to happen to Runt he knew in his heart that she would never sing again.

"You alright, G?"

The cat composed himself quickly, instantly recognizing the ominous voice behind him.

"Never better, Vinne. Never better."

_**March 17th 2000 1923 hours**_ (Pacific)

"So Jaelin tells Monique that he was the one who ordered the capers. Can you believe that?"

Hickam realized a second too late that his fellow officer wasn't buying his fake laughter, causing a cloud of awkward silence to hover above the police car. Glancing in the rear view mirror, he caught a glimpse of Runt trying to conceal a smirk on his face, quickly turning as soon as he noticed the cop's eyes on him. He didn't mind too much; the dog was clearly under a lot of stress and the trip to the hospital had him unnecessarily upset. He wanted to tell him it was all going to be fine. Wanted to let him in on the joke. Wanted to-

"Look out!"

Hickam nearly let instinct take over and dodge the tree, but recovered just in time to clip a low branch, causing the car to spin out of control and hood first into a muddy ditch.

_**March 17th 2000 2256 hours**_ (Eastern)

"He's not here."

"I know, Amoxi. I know."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're in the papers, Amoxi."

"…No. No!"

"You know the rules. I gave you enough time. What's to say they won't trace you back to me, kid?"

"Thirty years, Mr. Sephia. Give me some more time."

"Will a week cover it?"

"Yeah. Not even including the weekend. Just five days."

"Five days, huh? You stupid ass wolf."

"Wha-"

"It's not just a matter of you catching a cat anymore. She's already sang. Her interview with The Times is coming out next week. You gonna kill everyone who reads it and starts asking questions, too?"

"Everything you've asked, haven't I-"

"Oh please, spare it. Not from you, too. Haven't you figured out by now that the only thing I'm interested in is results?"

"So what happens now?"

"Hold on a second, will ya?"

"…"

"Da- daddy?"  
>"!"<p>

"You're not going to talk to your own daughter? Maybe we'll have better luck with your woman, then."

"-"

_**March 17th 2000 1929 hours**_ (Pacific)

"Open your eyes, daminit."

Runt blinked a few times, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head. The first thing he recognized as he lay still was the feel of grass on his cheek. Looking around, the mutt's eyes fixated on the burning police cruiser he'd been in just moments ago. He could see one officer lying on his face, not even a twitch in his limp body. Hickam, on the other hand was slapping his side trying to get some kind of reaction out of him. Runt growled as he sat up, unable to punch him back due to his cuffs.

"Good. Roll over."

The mutt's eyes narrowed at the perceived speciel slur until he noticed the handcuff key Hickam was holding. Hesitantly, Runt complied.

"Can you run?" the officer asked as he took the dog's restraints off.

Rubbing his sore wrists, Runt nodded, a bit confused.

"This is unit 407 with the sheriff's department prisoner transfer unit, come in!" Hickam shouted into his radio, looking away from Runt for a moment.

"Unit 407, go ahead." The garbled voice of the dispatcher surprised the dog as he waited to see what would happen.

"We've been in an accident. Hit a tree on the side of the road. Palmer's down. Out cold. The prisoner took my .38 and wallet and escaped to the south, over."

"Standby there, Unit 407 we're on our way."

"I didn't…?" Runt's words dissipated as Hickam put his wallet in a spare set of jeans and shoved them in his paws.

"Go on and change, but get rid of the uniform when you're on the train."

"What train?" Runt was clearly out of the loop, but changed his clothes nonetheless.

"There's a watch in the front pocket. When the alarm goes off, you need to get off at the next station the train stops at… then head west to a green barn. Can't miss it. 200 yards up."

The dog was speechless, but clearly memorizing the instructions he was given. He seriously contemplated punching Hickam as the officer produced his sidearm, but relaxed when it was offered to him.

"Just in case, alright? Don't use it if you don't have to. There's $300 in the wallet, so get going. They're waitin' for ya."  
>Runt stood up, still at a loss for words. This was clearly happening, but so fast and unanticipated. It simply didn't register correctly.<p>

"Go on! East, about two clicks is where your train is docked. You've only got about 15 minutes! Move your ass! Get into one of the rear cars."

The dog unceremoniously sped off in the right direction. He couldn't thank him. It clearly wasn't the cop's idea. Everything had been too calculated. How did they know the traffic was going to be non-existent on the road? Finally reaching the station, he saw the train in the distance. Previous experience told him that the cargo trains usually never locked all the doors. Recognizing a symbol on a car, he tried his luck with the door. Success! There was something comforting about hitching a ride on a car full of mattresses. As soon as he felt the engine running, Runt relaxed enough to look inside the wallet, confirming his suspicions. In the sleeve, he found one of Danny's business cards. The mutt frowned, not wanting to owe anything to such an idealist.

_**March 17th 2000 2341 hours**_ (Eastern)

The bartender had long given up trying to comfort the lupine as he openly wept over his Corona. He barely noticed the other come up and sit next to him, taking his Scotch with a bit of Coke. The coyote gave Amoxi a long, thorough look as he sipped his concoction.

"They're fine, ya know."

The information initially registered as nonsense to the wolf who barely soaked in the words.

"Trust me, I set the three-way conference up."

Amoxi slowly turned to face the coyote who was now wearing that same smug smirk that he'd personally trademarked.

"There's no way they'd risk another investigation by messing with women and children. Especially yours."

He took a napkin and wiped his tears, the cheap paper dissolving the instant it touched his saltwater, flecks sticking to his face in the process.

"So you're here to…"

The coyote masked his smile as best he could, nodding slowly.

"You know the procedure. If ya ask me, they gave you way too much time as it was."

"So this whole trip was,"

"A setup basically, so we would meet."

"So what message do you have for me?"

"Hmm?" The coyote looked legitimately baffled.

"Surely you have a-…oh."

"Afraid so."  
>"Now? Here?"<p>

"It's your choice. But I don't think either one of us wants you to take option 'B'." as he spoke, the coyote produced a syringe, laying it on the table between the two of them.

"I could jab you with this and take my chances." Amoxi said, eyeing the blue liquid in the needle.

"They're still at your house and they're not leaving until I tell them." The coyote's response was quite standard, but somehow necessary.

"What guarantee do I have that you won't-"

"The only guarantee you have is that I will if you don't take it," the coyote growled suddenly, cutting the wolf off. Straightening his tie, he added a bit softer, "But I give you my word that if you take this now while the barkeep is otherwise occupied, I won't let it happen."

The wolf took a moment to consider the situation, trying his best to be objective, failing for the most part, but still seeing the merit of trusting his enemy. Of course, he could easily get out of his immediate predicament alive, but that would undoubtedly cause the failure of his objective in the first place.

"Three second half-life." The coyote warned, nodding at the bartender. "You know, these airports have killer prices for drinks."

"Attention Delta Customers, Flight 187 to Chicago is now boarding Zones A-C"

"You gonna miss your flight or not?" the coyote stood up, throwing a few bills on the bar.

Though he was required to get visual confirmation, the coyote had to turn away as the liquid death disappeared into Amoxi's carotid artery. As the wolf finished the job he tried for a moment to keep his grip on the syringe before falling off the stool, alerting the others of his other worldly departure when the coyote was out of sight.

_**March 17th 2000 2122 hours**_ (Pacific)

_Beep Beep! Beep Beep! Beep Beep!_

Thanks to his time on the inside, he'd managed to tune out the sound of the machinery clanking and the infrequent blaring of the conductor's whistle and even managed to get some shut eye, but the alarm clock felt something like a buzz saw in his ears. Runt opened his eyes, mentally preparing himself to take off, checking his weapon a few times, twirling it like a sheriff and nearly blowing his foot off in the process. He could feel the train decelerating after a while, the bumps getting more and more pronounced, making it harder and harder to keep his balance. By the time they'd come to a crawl, he hopped out of the car, praying that he wouldn't be seen, the moon complying with this plan, showing only her crescent attire.

Sprinting west, the mutt didn't slow down until he could see green and upon sensing a certain presence sped up even faster. Pistol in paw and vigilance on the brain, Runt charged through the door, front rolling into a corner catching an aqua pigeon in his crosshairs when he focused on his surroundings. His eyes scanning the area, Runt slowly lowered his weapon until he saw her sitting on the wing of a light aircraft, legs dangling over the side. Their eyes met, locked on mutually. It took the mutt a moment to realize that it wasn't his eyes zooming in, but the fact that he was running towards her just as she did the same. Oblivious to the others in the barn, the two embraced, an awkward scene for a casual on-looker who might get the impression that a hulking mongrel was squeezing the life out of a small ragdoll.

Both of them made several failed attempts at speaking but of course between Rita's sobbing and Runt's panting (or wheezing), their incoherent babbling could only be chalked up as the universal language of requited fiery passion that could nary be extinguished. If absence truly makes the heart grow fonder, in this case, the heart was very fond indeed. After a time, the pilot, an ornery green mallard cleared his throat and started the engine to get the couple's attention.

"Still ain't outta harm's way, kids. Save that for the honeymoon suite or somethin'."

Without a word, Rita clasped Runt's paw in her own and led him into the small plane, the Goodfeathers following suit, triumphant smiles on their beaks.

"We're headed for Danny's," Squit announced, "He'll get you the rest of the way there."

Neither lover made any indication that they heard the pigeon, so engrossed were they with each other. Wiping a tear away from Runt's eye, Rita licked the canine's cheek. This may have well been the first time she had seen the dog openly weep.

_**March 17th 2000 0530 hours**_ (Eastern)

Rita and Runt had sat in one another's embrace for the entire flight, barely paying mind to the details of the plan Bobby was explaining. The only details that stuck with either was that Danny had bribed the C.O. who seemed a willing participant regardless of the monetary gain, who spiked his food with a mild poison, causing the mutt to spit up blood in the first place. Once they arrived in New York, Danny had chartered some space on a freighter headed for Colombia owned San Andrés off the coast of Nicaragua. Of course, they would be in charge of the fifty or sixty young stowaways that would accompany them. Indeed it went without saying that never being able to step foot on their home soil again was a small price to pay.

Taking her first steps towards paradise in the dark, clinging to her other half, it took Rita a moment to realize that something was very wrong. Of course, they were no doubt being hunted by the authorities by now, but shy of a fowl turncoat, there was no way they would have tracked any of them to New York yet… but again, the underworld of her youth had a more personal grudge against them, as did some fundamentalist felines (and indeed probably canines as well, for that matter). Regardless, the cat's nose twitched, detecting a spray that was foreign to her and somewhat familiar as well; an olfactory déjà vu. Runt looked over at her, eyes widened. It was then that she realized she'd sprung her claws and sunk them into his arms, drawing blood.

"What is it?" he queried, sniffing the air for the alarm, but failing to detect cause for concern at first. Before he could reassure her that everything was fine, the mutt's lip flared in an unholy rage as he smelled Greg's presence. Of course Rita's shock had been for a different purpose.

"Die, mothafucka!" Vinne emerged from the shadows, MAC 10 at the ready. Runt had the presence of mind to shove Rita into an alley, but knew this would make drawing his own piece impossible against an automatic. It all happened so fast, as is normally the case, though the results rather confused the downed dog. Before Vinne could fire, Gregory hopped out from behind a trashcan, flailing his arms, tripping Runt as he dashed his old friend. Vinne pulled the trigger, perhaps not knowing that his comrade was in his sites, but stopped firing as the bloody cat gripped his shoe.

"Please-don'…" Greg's sentence finished with a sickening gurgle as the light went out of his eyes.

Before he could fire again, Vinne dropped his weapon, as two bullets shattered through the back of his skull. By this time, Runt was able to draw his .38 to find _his_ old friend standing over the mysterious gray cat. Buttons seemed quite out of breath and he wondered about the cast on his foot that the basenji sported. As Rita emerged from the alley, she refused to look at the fallen felines, but quaked on the sidewalk before Runt could embrace her in his arms, allowing the cat's heart to melt.

_Why you followin' me,_

_ Gray cloud?_

_ What you want me to see,_

_ Gray cloud?_

_ What you want me to be,_

_ Gray cloud?_

"We gotta go now. Definitely don't wanna be tagged for this, too." Buttons announced, "I'll only slow you down, So head on over to where' you're going. Don't worry about me."

"Come with us!" Runt spoke, until Buttons point his barrel at him.

"You get caught and all of this is for shit. I can't let that happen. Get going."

Noiselessly, the couple complied, leaving Rita's brother and pimp in a pool of their own blood.

_**-The End Part 14-**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**March 20th 2000 1500 hours**_ (Eastern)

'Intriguing' may have been the best way to describe it, this being his first time on a ship, or any real sea vessel for that matter. It wasn't as if he had a phobia of sailing, but the opportunity always seemed to escape the mutt throughout his life. Stretching out, nearly catching a yawn in the process, Runt lazily rested his head on the railing, gazing over on the second deck at his reason for existence. Rita was playing referee with a few strays who were a bit too serious about their impromptu game of freeze tag. Things were far from perfect… San Andrés was not exactly the Bahamas. Hell, the Bahamas weren't exactly the Bahamas for anyone but tourists that could afford to leave there once arriving. But they'd make it. Had to. The couple had been received with open arms by the crew obviously having been funded quite handsomely by their Broadway host. The night they'd set sail, Runt finally found it in him to express his gratitude to Danny. All things considered, it could have gone much worse. But of course that was all in the past. They'd been out to sea for three days now and were fast approaching their destination, so this was the last day they could be seen on deck. Afterwards, they'd be deposited on the island and spend the rest of their lives playing with kids. Not a horrible fate at all, considering what the alternate could have been. Both creatures had done enough living for an entire colony and deserved some rest and more importantly, consistency.

She was relieved to find that the accepted bias was more of a learned behavior than natural instinct. The puppies treated the kittens like other puppies and vice-versa. They all seemed divided more or less by personality rather than species. As the she monitored their antics, Rita's memories of the past slowly faded away, making room for dreams of future endeavors, but rather than for herself and Runt, they were dreams for all these young charges and the future orphans they were bound to end up with. It was overwhelming in a good way. As she ushered the herd back below deck for the final stretch of the journey, she noticed her lover's gaze from the other side of the ship and blew a kiss to reciprocate before disappearing into the forecastle.

_**March 21st 2000 0900 hours**_ (Eastern)

"Documentos oficiales."

Runt couldn't restrian his paw from trembling as the group that seemed like a Boarder MP spoke to them on the deck. He was more nervous because of the communication barrier than the Galil ACEs they carried at the ready. The only Spanish he knew was "Jos_é _Cuervo".

"¡Papeles, señor!"

Reaching into his jacket, the mutt produced the documents he'd been given, sweating a bit as the officer wrinkled his forehead, reading the first page with a critical eye, cringing as the cop started to open his mouth, then relaxing as a smile swiftly spread across his face as he found the substantial amount of Peso in the middle of portfolio. The elation drain from his facial muscles as he addressed Runt again.

"Ok, ok, enjoy your stay."

The mutt blinked, wondering if he spoke any more English or was simply quoting a movie line.

"¡Vamos!"

Runt left the cargo ship in a hurry to join Rita and the others, suddenly no longer in the mood to find out. The group walked for a good twenty minutes, the locals unsympathetic to the fact that the children were restless and the cat was intrigued by the wonders of the island scenery. The procession finally ended at what seemed to be a cross between a run-down shoe factory and an abandoned hotel… abandoned in the middle of construction.

"Nice, huh?"

Rita and Runt glared at their guide, wondering if he was joking. The sincerity in his eyes said it all… There wasn't much on this island in better shape than this.

"You ask Danny, he'll give some money. Then I send maybe twenty guys help you out. Is okay?"

"Kids, looks like we're sleepin' under the stars tonight."

Rita looked at the mutt, shaking her head, not out of disappointment, but rather disbelief that they were finally home.

_**March 23rd 2000 2015 hours**_ (Eastern)

Barbara Walters: So Danny, let me get this straight. You're publicly denying any knowledge in the whereabouts of either Rita or Runt?

Danny: I mean, you're not the cops and they've already cleared me. But for the record, yes. I have no idea what happened to either one of them.

Barbara Walters: Any speculation?

Danny: Speculating is what gets people in trouble. Besides, that's way beyond the problem that started this whole issue in the first place.

Barbara Walters: Animal trafficking, right?

Danny: Exploitation, pure and simple. Barbara, when is it going to get through to you people? We're subjected to situations that you couldn't even imagine, and just talking about this kind of thing in public is enough to get somebody killed or worse.

Barbara Walters: So why are you risking so much?

Danny: Is anything going to change for the better if I don't?

Barbara Walters: I suppose not. So why not get together with other powerful animals? Maybe Garfield, Roger Rabbit, or maybe even Bugs Bunny?

Danny: They've got no power.

Barbara Walters: How so?

Danny: Those guys are rich because they know how to play the game. And that mainly involves being quiet and taking a check.

Barbara Walters: They get paid to not rattle the gilded cages?  
>Danny: Exactly. Wouldn't you in their position? I mean, don't you?<p>

Barbara Walters: … So what are your plans as far as unionizing in the realm of the Animal Actor's Guild?

Danny: See now, the AAG has its most stringent opposition from within the ranks of the very ones it's poised to help. I can't get any official endorsement from anyone currently under contract with the big name companies… You know MGM, Warner Bros…. don't even get me started on Disney. They want the power in their own court and don't want to give even a smidgen to us.

Barbara Walters: Then would it be possible to start your own studio?

Danny: Not here in America. Banks won't even let someone like me in the door unless I was leading a blind guy.

Barbara Walters: So what are you going to do?

Danny: I hear Prague is nice this time of year.

_**March 27th 2000 2319 hours**_ (Eastern)

The rare moment when the orphans were exhausted, taking their daily tenure in Dreamland was the time Runt longed for the most, despite his eventual adoration of the children. Sprawled out on the roof overlooking the onyx black ocean as far as the eye can see with cool rum in one paw and a warm torso in the other.

"I could stay like this for the rest of my life and have no regrets whatsoever."

Rita rolled on her side, landing on the mutt's stomach, playfully wrestling the drink out of his paw.

"Is that the rum talking or another part of you?" she smiled, her teeth flashing, the reflection almost blue in the moonlight.

"Don't need to be drunk or not to know that I want to be with you forever." Runt's singsong voice subtly faded in and out as he tried, to no avail to retrieve his concoction. The cat did her best to pin the mutt to the roof, limbs barely reaching the sides of the dog's ribs, her digits digging into the mutt's skin causing Runt to bite his tongue as he giggled. After allowing her the opportunity to get the upper hand on him for awhile longer, Runt easily turned the tides, rolling the cat on her side, opposite him. Exhausted, the two took a moment to enjoy the astronomical light show high above them. Neither had been afford the luxury of having a night to watch the stars years ago with the light pollution from the cities monopolizing the skies after hours.

"Can you see that, Runt? Looks like a bloody dagger."

"Bloody…What?"

"There!" Rita squeezed the dog's cheeks, point him in the direction of her discovery.

"Why would you even… Oh, it _is_ a bloody dagger. Creepy." Runt scratched his head wondering when the right time would present itself.

"Yeah." Rita sighed quietly, snuggling back up against his warm fur, renewing his fervor, but weakening his courage at the same time.

"…"

"…"

"So, uh, you wanna get married or something?" Runt looked away as he spoke as if he were contemplating on a choice between Coke or Pepsi.

Rita sat up and looked at her partner, bemused. "Interesting segue way." She remarked, lying back down.

Having started the ball rolling, Runt could not afford to stop. Unfortunately for him, his ability to articulate feelings of this nature were typically limited to his vocabulary. "So do you wanna?"

"What?" the cat stretched nonchalantly.

"Get married," the mutt reiterated.

"Oh."

"…"

"So?"

Rita rolled on her side not quite facing Runt. "Do _you_ wanna?"

"Well, yeah, I think so."

"Why?"

"I mean isn't that what you do if you're in lo-…?" Runt stopped his sentence as his eyes met with her again. Her expression told a story of inner turmoil.

"Says who?" she demanded, seemingly offended by the notion. Runt hadn't considered the inherent difference in their species in terms of the matter of matrimony.

"I dunno."

"Isn't that like some kind of law that you make?"

"Sorta. It's like a love contract for the rest of your lives."

"Do I need a piece of paper to tell everyone how I feel?"

"I… no? What's the problem?"

"You love me, right?"

"Of course I do, Rita."

"I love you, right?"

"I should hope so."

"That's all we need. Leave the contracts to the humans. They're the ones that need 'em."

"Oh." Runt frowned, thoughtfully. "All right."

"Yeah."

"So what am I supposed to do with this ring I got?"

"Ring?"

Rita watched as the mutt produced a neatly wadded ball of expensive tissue paper. He said nothing as he closed it into her paw. The cat was flabbergasted to say the least. As she rushed to unwrap the wad, her mind constantly in conflict with being careful and being curious, she finally winced as a sparkle hit her eye, catching the reflection of the moon perfectly, shining so brightly that she had to look away for a moment.

"What is this?" Rita demanded facing the dog, who wore a look that suggested both terror and adoration.

"J-just w-wear it. Try it on for size."

Rita looked down again, examining the jewel, careful not to look directly at it, lest she go blind.

"It's green!" she exclaimed.

"Goes with your eyes," he replied.

"How could you get a green diamon-"

"Shh…" Runt put a finger on the cat's lips, hushing her. Taking the ring in one paw and her finger in the other, the mutt slipped the jewelry on Rita's finger, silently sighing with relief at it's perfect fit.

"Rita McCoy," he began, "Will you let me stay with you for the rest of my life?"

Looking into the mutt's eyes, Rita had a bit of trouble focusing with as the tears started to form. Blinking them away, she gave her reply. "Only if you let me do the same."

As they knew this would be the closest they would get to the conventional form of commitment, the two took the traditional method of consummating their vows until they felt the sun on their backs. Before rays could beam completely across the island, if you were close, you might hear the soothing melody. Although, of course the lyrics were reserved for the falsetto feline's sole audience.

_Maybe life is sometimes awkward,_

_ Sometimes rules aren't fair_

_ But one truth that will never leave_

_ Is with hope, love's always there._

_ In short, I'd like to state a point_

_ One rarely seems to hear_

_ Sometimes people live their lives,_

_ Constantly in fear._

_ They cannot take a leap of faith,_

_ For they're afraid they'll fall_

_ I pity them because in a sense,_

_ They'll never love at all_

_ For what is love without some risk,_

_ What's a ride without a thrill?_

_ Life's too short to play guessing games_

_ Always standing still_

_ So now in life there comes a time _

_ Where we forget the past_

_ And focus on the things in life_

_ That were meant to last._

_**-The End-**_


End file.
